The first part of the whisper had reached Eve's ears, and the hope which had leaped into her heart had been forced back by the disappointment that Jerrem, not Adam, had sent the letter. Still, it might contain some news of their return, and she turned to Joan with a look of impatient inquiry. "I wonder whatever 'tis about?" said Joan, claiming the right of ownership so far as the unfolding the missive went. "Some random talk or 'nother, I'll be bound," she added, with a keener knowledge of her correspondent than Eve possessed. "I'll warrant he's a nice handful aboard there 'mongst 'em all, with nothin' to do but drinkin' and dice-throwin' from mornin' to night. Awh, laws!" she said, with a sigh of discontent as the written page lay open before her, "what's the good o' sendin' a passel o' writin' like that to me? 'T might so well be double Dutch for aught I can make out o' any o' it. There! take and read it, do 'ee, Eve, and let's hear what he says--a good deal more 'bout you than me, I'll lay a wager to." "Then I don't know why he should," said Eve. "No, nor I neither," laughed Joan; "but, there! I ain't jealous o' he, for, as I'm Jerrem's cut-and-come-agen, his makin' up to other maidens only leaves un more relish for comin' back to the dish he can stick by." Eve's eyes had by this time run over the carelessly-written, sprawling page of the letter, and her face flushed up crimson as she said, "I really do wish Jerrem would give over all this silly nonsense. He has no business to write in this way to me." "To you?" exclaimed Joan, snatching back the letter to look at the outside. "Why, that ain't to you;" and she laid her finger on the direction. "Come now, 'tis true I bain't much of a scholard, but I'm blessed if I can't swear to my awn name when I sees un." "That's only the outside," said Eve: "all the rest is to me--nothing but a parcel of silly questions, asking me how he has offended me, and why I don't treat him as I used to; as if he didn't know that he has nobody but himself to blame for the difference!" "And ain't there nothin' else? Don't he send no word to me?" asked Joan ruefully. Eve, who was only too glad that poor Joan's ignorance prevented her reading the exaggerated rhodomontade of penitence and despair with which the paper was filled, ignored the first question. "He says," she said, turning to read from the page, "'As you won't give me the opportunity of speaking to you, promise me that when we meet, which will be to-morrow night--' Oh, Joan, can that be true? do you think he means really to-morrow?" then, running her eyes farther on, she continued: "Perhaps he does, for--listen, Joan--'You mustn't split on me to Adam, who's cock-a-hoop about giving you all a surprise, and there'd be the devil to pay if he found out I'd blown the gaff.'"