took it from her, and his hand shook with emotion as he
glanced at it. It was a small sheet of note-paper, and there was
writing on two sides in a female hand, but the lines were uneven, and it
seemed as though the writer had been, for some reason or other, unable
to use the pen steadily. Mr Huntingdon hesitated for a moment. Had he
any right to read a communication which was addressed to another? Not,
surely, under ordinary circumstances. But the circumstances now were
not ordinary; and he was the father of the person to whom the letter was
addressed, and by reading it he might take steps to preserve his son
from harm, or might bring him out of difficulties. So he decided to
read the letter, and judge by its contents whether he was bound to
secrecy as to those contents or no. But, as he read, the colour fled
from his face, and a cold perspiration burst out upon him. What could
the letter mean? Was the writer sane? And if not, oh, misery! then
there was a second wreck of reason in the family; for the handwriting
was his daughter's, and the signature at the foot of the paper was hers
too. With heaving breast and tearful eyes he handed the letter to his
sister, whose emotion was almost as distressing as his own as she read
the following strange and almost incoherent words:--

"Amos,--I'm mad; and yet I am not. No; but he will drive me mad. He
will take them both away. He will ruin us all, body and soul."

Then there was a break. The words hitherto had been written in a steady
hand; those which followed were wavering, as though penned against the
will of the writer, and under fear of some one standing by. They were
as follows:--

"Come to me early to-morrow morning. You will see a man at the farther
side of Marley Heath on horseback--follow him, and he will bring you to
me, for I am not where I was. Come alone, or the man will not wait for
you, and then you will never be seen again in this world by your
wretched sister,--Julia."

Such were the contents of the mysterious letter, which were well
calculated to stir to their depths the hearts of both the squire and his
sister, who looked at each other as those look who become suddenly
conscious of a common misfortune. A spell seemed on their tongues. At
last the silence was broken by Walter.

"Dear father! dear auntie!" he exclaimed, "whatever is the matter?"

"Matter enough, I fear," said his father sadly.--"There, Kate, let him
look at the letter."