"Have I the honor of speaking to Mr. Roylake?" he asked. His quiet steady manner prepossessed me in his favour; it showed no servile reverence for the accident of birth, on the one hand, and no insolent assertion of independence, on the other. When I had told him that my name was Roylake, he searched one of the large pockets of his shooting jacket, produced a letter, and silently offered it to me. Before I took the letter--seeing that he was a stranger, and that he mentioned no name known to me--I thought it desirable to make some inquiry. "Is it a letter of your own writing?" I asked. "No, sir." "Who sends you with it?" He was apparently a man of few words. "My master," was the guarded answer that this odd servant returned. I became as inquisitive as old Toller himself. "Who is your master?" I went on. The reply staggered me. Speaking as quietly and respectfully as ever, he said: "I can't tell you, sir." "Do you mean that you are forbidden to tell me?" "No, sir." "Then what do you mean?" "I mean that I don't know my master's name." I instantly took the letter from him, and looked at the address. For once in a way, I had jumped at a conclusion and I had proved to be right. The handwriting on the letter, and the handwriting of the confession which I had read overnight, were one and the same. "Are you to wait for an answer?" I asked, as I opened the envelope. "I am to wait, sir, if you tell me to do so." The letter was a long one. After running my eye over the first sentences, I surprised myself by acting discreetly. "You needn't wait," I said; "I will send a reply." The man of few words raised his shabby hat, turned about in silence, and left me. CHAPTER VIII THE DEAF LODGER The letter was superscribed: "Private and Confidential." It was written in these words: "Sir,--You will do me grievous wrong if you suppose that I am trying to force myself on your acquaintance. My object in writing is to prevent you (if I can) from misinterpreting my language and my conduct, on the only two occasions when we happen to have met. "I am conscious that you must have thought me rude and ungrateful--perhaps even a little mad--when I returned your kindness last night, in honoring me with a visit, by using language which has justified you in treating me as a stranger. "Fortunately for myself, I gave you my autobiography to read. After what you now know of me, I may hope that your sense of justice will make some allowance for a man, tried (I had almost written, cursed) by such suffering as mine. "There are other deaf persons, as I have heard, who set me a good example.