Her father was pleased. Anything better than that deadly languor. The next day Bella sat by her father's side in the square, longing to go to the Sister, yet patiently waiting to be ordered. At last the admiral, finding her dull and listless, said, “Why don't you go and talk to the Sister? She amuses you. I'll join you when I have smoked this cigar.” The obedient Bella rose, and went toward the Sister as if compelled. But when she got to her her whole manner changed. She took her warmly by the hand, and said, trembling and blushing, and all on fire, “I have brought you the anonymous letter.” The elder actress took it and ran her eye over it--an eye that now sparkled like a diamond. “Humph!” said she, and flung off all the dulcet tones of her assumed character with mighty little ceremony. “This hand is disguised a little, but I think I know it. I am sure I do! The dirty little rascal!” “Madam!” cried Bella, aghast with surprise at this language. “I tell you I know the writer and his rascally motive. You must lend me this for a day or two.” “Must I?” said Bella. “Excuse me! Papa would be so angry.” “Very likely; but you will lend it to me for all that; for with this I can clear Miss Bruce's lover and defeat his enemies.” Bella uttered a faint cry, and trembled, and her bosom heaved violently. She looked this way and that, like a frightened deer. “But papa? His eye is on us.” “Never deceive your father!” said the Sister, almost sternly; “but,” darting her gray eyes right into those dove-like orbs, “give me five minutes' start--IF YOU REALLY LOVE SIR CHARLES BASSETT.” With these words she carried off the letter; and Bella ran, blushing, panting, trembling, to her father, and clung to him. He questioned her, but could get nothing from her very intelligible until the Sister was out of sight, and then she told him all without reserve. “I was unworthy of him to doubt him. An anonymous slander. I'll never trust appearances again. Poor Charles! Oh, my darling! what he must have suffered if he loves like me.” Then came a shower of happy tears; then a shower of happy kisses. The admiral groaned, but for a long time he could not get a word in. When he did it was chilling. “My poor girl,” said he, “this unhappy love blinds you. What, don't you see the woman is no nun, but some sly hussy that man has sent to throw dust in your eyes?” Nothing she could say prevailed to turn him from this view, and he acted upon it with resolution: he confined her excursions to a little garden at the back of the house, and forbade her, on any pretense, to cross the threshold. Miss Somerset came to the square in another disguise, armed with important information. But no Bella Bruce appeared to meet her. All this time Richard Bassett was happy as a prince. So besotted was he with egotism, and so blinded by imaginary wrongs, that he rejoiced in the lovers' separation, rejoiced in his cousin's attack.