“It was no time, however, to sentimentalize.  I rang for a servant, and, having waited till one came, took my leave.

“Of course all this is very shocking and painful, but I am glad I came.  The matter is ended now in a satisfactory manner.  I think it has been well done.  Let us both keep our counsel, and the affair will soon become a memory with us, as it is nothing with every one else.

  “Always your loving sister,

  “AUGUSTA.”

* * * * *

It is better to be silent upon some themes than to say too little.  Words would fail to express the emotions with which Willie read this history:  let silence and imagination tell the tale.

Flinging down the paper with a passionate cry, he saw yet another letter,—­the one in which these had been enfolded,—­a letter written to him, and by Mrs. Russell.  As by a flash, he perceived that there had been some blunder here, by which he was the gainer; and, partly at least, comprehended it.

These two, mother and aunt, fearing the old fire had not yet burned to ashes,—­nay, from their knowledge of him, sure of it,—­hearing naught of his illness, for he did not care to distress them by any account thereof, were satisfied that he had either met, or was remaining to compass a meeting, with Miss Ercildoune.  His mother had not the courage, or the baseness, to write such a letter as that to which Mrs. Russell urged her,—­a letter which should degrade his love in his own eyes, and recall him from an unworthy pursuit.  “Very well!” Mrs. Russell had then said, “It will be better from you; it will look more like unwarranted interference from me; but I will write, and you shall send an accompanying line.  Let me have it to-morrow.”

The next morning Mrs. Surrey was not well enough to drive out, and thus sent her note by a servant, enclosing with it the letter of June 27th,—­thinking that her sister might want it for reference.  When it reached Mrs. Russell, it was almost mail-time, and with the simple thought, “So,—­Laura has written it, after all,” she enclosed it in her own, and sent it off, post-haste; not even looking at the unsealed envelope, as Mrs. Surrey had taken for granted she would, and thus failing to know of its double contents.

Thus the very letter which they would have compassed land and sea to have prevented coming under his eyes, unwisely yet most fortunately kept in existence, was sent by themselves to his hands.

Without pausing to read a line of that which his aunt had written him, he tore it into fragments, flung it into the empty grate; and, bounding down the stairs and on to the street, plunged into a carriage and was whirled away, all too slowly, to the home he had left but a little space before with such widely, such painfully different emotions.

CHAPTER XIII

  “I could not love thee, dear, so much,
  Loved I not honor more.”