"Who----" Then with a great gulp----"I'm a bad hand at beating about the bush, sir. What I have seen of Miss Guyon has so enthralled me, that--that I would give my life to win her for my wife." He sought his handkerchief to wipe his fevered lips, but Mr. Guyon caught his hand and pressed it warmly. "You, Robert, you? My dear boy, those are the happiest words that my ears have heard this many a day. You? Why, in a father's--what you may call fondest dreams, I could not have hoped for such good news as this! You? Why, of all people on earth, the very man!" "The very man" looked any thing but happy as he sat there with pallid lips and puckered forehead and rapidly-beating heart--sat there silent and downcast, only occasionally raising his eyes to glance at the letter which Mr. Guyon had placed on the table before him. At that letter he stole long wistful glances; it seemed to possess for him a kind of baleful attraction; and after a short interval his regard fixed on it so directly that his companion could not fail to notice it. But though Mr. Guyon fully comprehended what was passing within Robert Streightley's breast, it by no means suited him to refer to it at once. "My dear Robert," said he, after a few minutes' pause, "the unexpected delight of your communication just made has really taken me--even old stager as I am--what I may call off my legs! I understand you to propose for my daughter's hand?" "The very man" said never a word, but bowed his head abstractedly. "Then I congratulate you and myself, my dear boy!" said the elder man, again seizing his companion's passive hand--"and I think we may regard it as a settled thing. My daughter has not seen much of you at present, but I am quite certain that when she once comes to know the qualities of your head and heart, she will----" "What about that letter, Mr. Guyon?" said Robert Streightley in a cold, hard voice, pointing to the envelope still lying on the table. "That letter!" echoed Mr. Guyon, his face falling considerably. "Well, my dear Robert, there's no denying that--eh? That letter--you see that young man Frere, Gordon Frere, gentlemanly fellow, good address, and all that kind of thing, has had opportunities of--in fact making his way, which--wilful woman and so on. Gad, if that letter were delivered, there's no knowing how things might turn out!" Streightley's heart sunk within him, and he turned faint and sick; but he controlled himself sufficiently to say: "Then you were a little rash in your congratulations, Mr. Guyon?" "Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. Recollect--I spoke of a contingency. I said--_if_ that letter were delivered." "_If_ that letter were delivered to Miss Guyon? Do you mean to say that you would dare to Withhold it from her?" "'Dare' is a very awkward word, my dear Robert. It appears to me that if one could select two men as judges of what should or should not be addressed to a young lady, they would be her father--and her intended husband."