When he had picked up the letters and locked them in his desk, he ate some breakfast, wondering all the while by what means Mrs. Abington had obtained those precious writings; and after giving the matter an hour's thought, he came to the conclusion that she must have felt the wallet in the pocket of the man's cloak when she had left the table pretending to be shocked at the disloyal expressions of her guest--she must have felt the wallet and have contrived to extract the letters from it, substituting for them the sham act of the play which excused his entrance to the supper-room. The more he thought over the matter, the more convinced he became that the wily lady had effected her purpose in the way, he conjectured. He recollected that she had been for a considerable time on the chair with the cloak--much longer than was necessary for Jackson to drink the treasonable toast; and when she returned to the table, it was only to turn him out of the room upon a very shallow pretext. What a fool he had been to fancy that she was in a genuine passion when she had flung her glass of wine in the face of her guest because he had addressed her as Mrs. Baddeley! He had been amazed at the anger displayed by her in regard to that particular incident, but later he had thought it possible that she had acted the part of a jealous woman to give him a better chance of getting the wallet out of the man's waistcoat pocket. Now, however, he clearly perceived that her anxiety was to get out of the room in order to place the letters beyond the man's hands. Once again he laughed, saying out loud-- “Ah, I was right--a woman's wiles only are superior to the strategy of a devil!” Then he became more contemplative. The most joyful hour of his life was at hand. He asked himself how his dear Jessamy Bride would receive the letters which he was about to take to her. He did not think of himself in connection with her gratitude. He left himself altogether out of consideration in this matter. He only thought of how the girl's face would lighten--how the white roses which he had last seen on her cheeks would change to red when he put the letters into her hand, and she felt that she was safe. That was the reward for which he looked. He knew that he would feel bitterly disappointed if he failed to see the change of the roses on her face--if he failed to hear her fill the air with the music of her laughter. And then--then she would be happy for evermore, and he would be happy through witnessing her happiness. He finished dressing, and was in the act of going to his desk for the letters, which he hoped she would soon hold in her hand, when his servant announced two visitors. Signor Baretti, accompanied by a tall and very thin man, entered. The former greeted Goldsmith, and introduced his friend, who was a compatriot of his own, named Nicolo.