In her last exclamation Annetje had dropped into her natural voice. Pierre was so down-hearted that he did not notice the change; but Annetje, fearing to expose herself further, galloped ahead and Pierre took his place by my side. As for me, I had little enough of sympathy for him, and felt more in a mood for laughing. If there is anything on this earth I cannot abide it is a whiny lover. I remember once a fellow whose opinion of himself was better than most folks’ and he used to go about from morning to night with his face as long as a cucumber thinking all the while of what he might have been doing while another fellow came in and ran off with the prize before his eyes. I was minded to tell Pierre the story of this fellow and how he went into a decline and died without as much sympathy as would go to make an ordinary case of the blues, but he got so quick to work upon his other concerns that I forgot all about it till the time was past. “This is an odd manner for the young mistress,” he said. “But I suppose she is glad to get out again. Annetje says that the patroon keeps her close. I told her that I should ride along the road here every day. I did not know when I should meet you, but I knew that you would come along some day. I wish Annetje had come.” “There were strange happenings at the manor-house to-day, Pierre.” “So there were at Marmaduke Hall. I was walking in the crowd on the Slip when someone put his hand into my pocket. There were so many people that I could not make out who it was, but I found that he had left your letter in my pocket.” “My letter! In your pocket!” “Yes, the letter you wrote last night.” “I wrote no letter.” “Yes you did. I received it.” “Not from me. What was it like?” “It was very short and said that the excuse of going to Albany would not do; that a messenger was coming from the manor-house to inquire after you and must find you dead. We thought it a piece of foolery at first, though who but you knew enough to write the letter. But first thing we knew, Mistress Miriam rode up to ask where you were. Lady Marmaduke saw her coming and suspected that the letter was true. So she rubbed my face with flour, found me a false beard that they used to act with when they gave plays there, and made me into your corpse in the twinkling of an eye. If the tender-hearted mistress had not been full of tears, she would never have taken me for you, nor for a corpse either, for I jumped when one of her tears fell plump into my eye. She just turned away, saying something about your sister had she been alive.” I stifled a sob at this. Everyone but me was free to mourn aloud for Ruth. “I sent no such letter, Pierre. What do you suppose it means?”