“Madam,—­The fact of Miss Gourlay having taken refuge with you as her friend, upon a certain occasion that was, I believe, very painful to that young lady, I think sufficiently justifies me in supposing that you feel a warm interest in her fate.  For this reason, therefore, I have taken the liberty of addressing you with reference to her present situation.  If ever a human being required the aid and consolation of friendship, Miss Gourlay now does; and I will not suppose that a lady whom she honored with her esteem and affection, could be capable of withholding from her such aid and such consolation, in a crisis so deplorable.  You are probably aware, madam, that she is on the point of being sacrificed, by a forced and hated union, to the ambitious views of her father; but you could form a very slight conception indeed of the horror with which she approaches the gulf that is before her.  Could there be no means devised by which this unhappy young lady might be enabled with honor to extricate herself from the wretchedness with which she is encompassed?  I beg of you, madam, to think of this; there is little time to be lost.  A few days may seal her misery forever.  Her health and spirits are fast sinking, and she is beginning to entertain apprehensions that that apathy which proceeds from the united influence of exhaustion and misery, may, in some unhappy moment, deprive her of the power of resistance, even for a time.  Madam, I entreat that you will either write to her or see her; that you will sustain and console her as far as in you lies, and endeavor, if possible, to throw some obstruction in the way of this accursed marriage; whether through your influence with herself, or her father, matters not.  I beg, madam, to apologize for the liberty I have taken in addressing you upon this painful but deeply important subject, and I appeal to yourself whether it is possible to know Miss Gourlay, and not to feel the deepest interest in everything that involves her happiness or misery.

“I have the honor to be, madam,

“Your obedient, faithful servant, and Her Sincere Friend.

“P.  S.—­I send this letter by my servant, as I am anxious that it should reach no hands, and be subjected to no eyes, but your own; and I refer you to Miss Gourlay herself, who will satisfy you as to the honor and purity of my motives in writing it.”

Having sealed this communication, the stranger rang for Dulcimer, who made his appearance accordingly, and received his instructions for its safe delivery.

“You must deliver this note, Dandy,” said he, “to the lady to whom Miss Gourlay and her maid drove, the morning you took the unwarrantable liberty of following them there.”

“And for all that,” replied Dandy, “it happens very luckily that I chance, for that very raison, to know now where to find her.”

“It does so, certainly,” replied his master.  “Here is money for you—­take a car, or whatever kind of vehicle you prefer.  Give this note into her own hand, and make as little delay as you can.”