“If you’ll stay here, sir,” I said, “I’ll take it myself.” And take it I did, and found the rascal waiting, as Miss Rose had said he would be. He gave a black enough scowl when he saw it were me, and it certainly didn’t die out when I spoke to him. “Sir,” says I, “I’ve come here on a poor errand, and I’ve come unwilling enough, God knows. I’ve got a note in my hand here—a pitiful little letter from a trusting, innocent girl to a man who, if he does not mean her harm, surely cannot mean her good, or he would not be leading her to meet him, and write to him in underhand ways. And I’ve been making up my mind, as I came along, to make a appeal to that man, as surely he’ll listen to if he has a man’s heart in his breast. She is scarcely more than a child, sir, and she knows nothing of the world. Leave her alone, and she may be a happy woman; go on as you’ve begun, and it will be death and heartbreak to her, and her wrongs will lie at your door.” He stands there and looks at me, and by the light of the lamp we was standing under I sees his handsome, devilish face, sneering and triumphing and scorning me, as if I was a worm in the dirt under his feet. “My good fellow,” he says, “you are a little too late. Hand me that letter, and be off, before I find it necessary to help you. How you got hold of the note I don’t know, but I _do_ know it was never given to you to deliver, and that I should be well warranted in kicking you back to your quarters, for your deuced impudence and presumption.” But I held to the letter tight. “Very well, sir,” I answers, respectful, but firm as a rock. “This letter goes back to the house, and before night is over the captain will have read it himself, and can judge for himself what is best——” I didn’t finish, for the next thing I knew was that he strode up to me and grasped hold of me by my collar, and the minute I saw what he meant to do I felt I had made a mistake in bringing the letter at all, and in fancying that any appeal could touch or move him. There was a struggle between us, but it did not last long; he being strong and lithe, and so much the younger man, gave me no chance; and it were scarcely three seconds before he threw me on the pavement, and leaving me there, a trifle stunned, walked off with the letter in his hand. I knew things must be pretty bad then. He would never have been so desperate and determined if he had not meant to do his worst, and when I made my way back I felt sick with fear. Master Lionel was sitting by the bit of fire in the grate when I opened the door, and he turns round and looks at me, and changes color. “Rabbett,” he says, “there is blood on your face.” “Perhaps so, sir,” I says. “I’ve had a fall.” And then I sits down and tells him all about it; about what I had meant to do, and what I had done, and I ends up by asking him what he thinks we had better do, now that my plans had failed.