“DEAR MRS. REDMOND,--I hope you will not be surprised to receive a letter from _me_, nor to read the address of the enclosed note, nor to hear that I have been attached to your niece for some time--(yes, niece). My prospects when I was at home were so very poor that I did not feel justified in speaking to you on a subject nearest my heart, nor in asking her to bind herself to a long engagement. I have been working very hard this last year, and have passed the Higher Standard in Hindustani, in hopes of getting some staff appointment and increase of pay, and now within a week, my fortunes have taken a turn for the better. My uncle, who has discovered my impoverished state, has made me an allowance of five hundred a year, and begged that I will marry. I will gladly carry out his wishes, if you will give me Betty. No doubt she could marry a wealthier man (here he was thinking of Ghosty Moore), and make what is called a far better match, but it would be impossible for any one to love her as much as _I_ do. I hope you will not be startled to hear that I am asking for Betty at once. Colonel and Mrs. Calvert, very old friends of mine, are leaving London for Bombay the end of September; she could come out with them, and they would be present at our wedding soon after they had landed. I enclose Colonel Calvert’s address, and if you will write to him he will make all arrangements about a passage, and is empowered to draw on my bankers. I am afraid I am giving you very short notice--barely a month, but the Calverts’ escort is a grand opportunity, and in India we do everything rapidly and suddenly. We are here to-day, and a thousand miles away next week. I am sure you will miss Betty, but if she agrees to come out to me, I know that you will gladly spare her, for I have often heard you say, that you thought India must be a paradise for young people. I do not go so far as all that, but I will do all in my power to make it a happy home for Betty. Excuse this hurried letter, I have barely time to catch the post. Kindest regards to Miss Redmond and yourself. “Yours sincerely, “GEORGE HOLROYD.” When Mrs. Redmond had come to the end of this epistle, she felt dizzy for a moment; a rush of blood seemed to roar in her ears, the writing appeared to dance before her eyes, she laid it down, and sank back on her pillows, trembling as if she had been dealt a blow. Suddenly she heard Betty’s light step, and Betty’s pleasant voice on the landing outside her door, and had barely time to thrust the letter out of sight when Betty entered--she was instantly struck by the old lady’s drawn and ghastly face, and said as she leant over her: “I am afraid you are not so well this morning. Have you had a bad night, dear?”