’I have only further to say that I love you better than anyone in the world, and that it is my best hope that you will be my wife.  I will not press you further till this affair of your father’s has been settled; but when that is over, I shall look for my reward without reference to its result.  Not that I doubt the result if there be anything like justice in England; but that your debt to me, if you owe me any debt, will be altogether irrespective of that.  If, as I suppose, you will remain at Allington for some time longer, I shall not see you till after the trial is over.  As soon as that is done, I will come to you wherever you are.  In the meantime I shall look for an answer to this; and if it be true that you love me, dear, dear Grace, pray have the courage to tell me so.—­Most affectionately your own,

‘Henry Grantly’

When the letter was given to Grace across the breakfast-table, both Mrs Dale and Lily suspected that it came from Major Grantly, but not a word was spoken about it.  When Grace with hesitating hand broke the envelope, neither of her friends looked at her.  Lily had a letter of her own, and Mrs Dale opened the newspaper.  But still it was impossible not to perceive that her face became red with blushes, and then they knew that the letter must be from Major Grantly.  Grace herself could not read it, though her eye ran down over the two pages catching a word here and there.  She had looked at the name at once, and had seen the manner of his signature.  ‘Most affectionately your own’!  What was she to say to him?  Twice, thrice, as she sat at the breakfast-table she turned the page of the letter, and at each turning she read the signature.  And she read the beginning, ‘Dearest Grace’.  More than that she did not really read till she had got the letter away with her into the seclusion of her own room.

Not a word was said about the letter at breakfast.  Poor Grace went on eating or pretending to eat, but could not bring herself to utter a word.  Mrs Dale and Lily spoke of various matters, which were quite indifferent to them; but even with them the conversation was so difficult that Grace felt it to be forced, and was conscious that they were thinking about her and her lover.  As soon as she could make an excuse she left the room, and hurrying upstairs took the letter from her pocket and read it in earnest.

‘That was from Major Grantly, mamma,’ said Lily.

‘I daresay it was, my dear.’

‘And what had we better do; or what had we better say?’

’Nothing—­I should say.  Let him fight his own battle.  If we interfere, we may probably only make her more stubborn in clinging to her old idea.’

‘I think she will cling to it.’

’For a time she will, I daresay.  And it will be the best that she should.  He himself will respect her for it afterwards.’  Thus it was agreed between them that they should say nothing to Grace about the letter unless Grace should first speak to them.