On the next morning, there was an end to my short-lived enjoyment of no

more than the latter half of a day.

Watching her opportunity, Fanny Mere came to me while I was alone,

carrying a thick letter in her hand. She held it before me with the

address uppermost.

"Please to look at that," she said.

The letter was directed (in Harry's handwriting) to Mr. Vimpany, at a

publishing office in London. Fanny next turned the envelope the other

way.

"Look at this side," she resumed.

The envelope was specially protected by a seal; bearing a device of my

husband's own invention; that is to say, the initials of his name

(Harry Norland) surmounted by a star--his lucky star, as he paid me the

compliment of calling it, on the day when he married me. I was thinking

of that day now. Fanny saw me looking, with a sad heart, at the

impression on the wax. She completely misinterpreted the direction

taken by my thoughts.

"Tell me to do it, my lady," she proceeded; "and I'll open the letter."

I looked at her. She showed no confusion. "I can seal it up again," she

coolly explained, "with a bit of fresh wax and my thimble. Perhaps Mr.

Vimpany won't be sober enough to notice it."

"Do you know, Fanny, that you are making a dishonourable proposal to

me?" I said.

"I know there's nothing I can do to help you that I won't do," she

answered; "and you know why. I have made a dishonourable proposal--have

I? That comes quite naturally to a lost woman like me. Shall I tell you

what Honour means? It means sticking at nothing, in your service.

Please tell me to open the letter."

"How did you come by the letter, Fanny?"

"My master gave it to me to put in the post."

"Then, post it."

The strange creature, so full of contraries--so sensitive at one time,

so impenetrable at another--pointed again to the address.

"When the master writes to that man," she went on--"a long letter (if

you will notice), and a sealed letter--your ladyship ought to see what

is inside it. I haven't a doubt myself that there's writing under this

seal which bodes trouble to you. The spare bedroom is empty. Do you

want to have the doctor for your visitor again? Don't tell me to post

the letter, till I've opened it first."

"I do tell you to post the letter."




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