ion
should be made, not to the Braes of Linter, but to the close
confidence which had so long existed between them; but he found
that the language to do this properly was wanting to him. Had the
opportunity arisen he would have told her now the whole story of
Mary Flood Jones; but the opportunity did not come, and he left her,
never having mentioned the name of his Mary or having hinted at his
engagement to any one of his friends in London. "It is better so,"
he said to himself. "My life in Ireland is to be a new life, and why
should I mix two things together that will be so different?"

He was to dine at his lodgings, and then leave them for good at
eight o'clock. He had packed up everything before he went to Portman
Square, and he returned home only just in time to sit down to his
solitary mutton chop. But as he sat down he saw a small note
addressed to himself lying on the table among the crowd of books,
letters, and papers, of which he had still to make disposal. It was
a very small note in an envelope of a peculiar tint of pink, and he
knew the handwriting well. The blood mounted all over his face as he
took it up, and he hesitated for a moment before he opened it. It
could not be that the offer should be repeated to him. Slowly, hardly
venturing at first to look at the enclosure, he opened it, and the
words which it contained were as follows:--

I learn that you are going to-day, and I write a word
which you will receive just as you are departing. It is to
say merely this,--that when I left you the other day I was
angry, not with you, but with myself. Let me wish you all
good wishes and that prosperity which I know you will
deserve, and which I think you will win.

Yours very truly,

M. M. G.

Sunday morning.

Should he put off his journey and go to her this very evening and
claim her as his friend? The question was asked and answered in a
moment. Of course he would not go to her. Were he to do so there
would be only one possible word for him to say, and that word should
certainly never be spoken. But he wrote to her a reply, shorter even
than her own short note.

Thanks, dear friend. I do not doubt but that you and I
understand each other thoroughly, and that each trusts the
other for good wishes and honest intentions.

Always yours,

P. F.

I write these as I am starting.

When he had written this, he kept it till the last moment in his
hand,