“It was for Miss Margaret, Sir, that letter; and I was to keep it secret; and—­and—­it isn’t the first I’ve taken in for her.  It’s weeks and weeks ago, Sir, that the same man came with a letter, and gave me money to let nobody see it but Miss Margaret—­and that time, Sir, he waited; and she sent me with an answer to give him, in the same secret way.  And now, here’s this second letter; I don’t know who it comes from—­but I haven’t taken it to her yet; I waited to show it to you, Sir, as you came out, because—­”

“Why, Susan?—­tell me candidly why?”

“I hope you won’t take it amiss, Sir, if I say that having lived in the family so long as I have, I can’t help knowing a little about what you and Miss Margaret used to be to each other, and that something’s happened wrong between you lately; and so, Sir, it seems to be very bad and dishonest in me (after first helping you to come together, as I did), to be giving her strange letters, unknown to you.  They may be bad letters.  I’m sure I wouldn’t wish to say anything disrespectful, or that didn’t become my place; but—­”

“Go on, Susan—­speak as freely and as truly to me as ever.”

“Well, Sir, Miss Margaret’s been very much altered, ever since that night when she came home alone, and frightened us so.  She shuts herself up in her room, and won’t speak to anybody except my master; she doesn’t seem to care about anything that happens; and sometimes she looks so at me, when I’m waiting on her, that I’m almost afraid to be in the same room with her.  I’ve never heard her mention your name once, Sir; and I’m fearful there’s something on her mind that there oughtn’t to be.  He’s a very shabby man that leaves the letters—­would you please to look at this, and say whether you think it’s right in me to take it up-stairs.”

She held out a letter.  I hesitated before I looked at it.

“Oh, Sir! please, please do take it!” said the girl earnestly.  “I did wrong, I’m afraid, in giving her the first; but I can’t do wrong again, when my poor mistress is dying in the house.  I can’t keep secrets, Sir, that may be bad secrets, at such a dreadful time as this; I couldn’t have laid down in my bed to-night, when there’s likely to be death in the house, if I hadn’t confessed what I’ve done; and my poor mistress has always been so kind and good to us servants—­better than ever we deserved.”

Weeping bitterly as she said this, the kind-hearted girl held out the letter to me once more.  This time I took it from her, and looked at the address.

Though I did not know the handwriting, still there was something in those unsteady characters which seemed familiar to me.  Was it possible that I had ever seen them before?  I tried to consider; but my memory was confused, my mind wearied out, after all that had happened since the morning.  The effort was fruitless:  I gave back the letter.

“I know as little about it, Susan, as you do.”