They went out together, Goldsmith with the precious letters in his pocket--the second batch he put in the place of Mary Hor-neck's in his desk--and, parting at Fleet street, they agreed to meet at the Crown and Anchor in an hour. CHAPTER XXVII. It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction, such as he had never before known, that Goldsmith walked westward to Mrs. Horneck's house. All the exhilaration that he had experienced by watching the extraordinary exhibition of adroitness on the part of the fencingmaster remained with him. The exhibition had, of course, been a trifle bizarre. It had more than a suspicion of the art of the mountebank about it. For instance, Nicolo's pretence of being overmatched early in the contest--breathing hard and assuming a terrified expression--yielding his ground and allowing his opponent almost to run him through--could only be regarded as theatrical; while his tricks with the buttons and the letters, though amazing, were akin to the devices of a rope-dancer. But this fact did not prevent the whole scene from having an exhilarating effect upon Goldsmith, more especially as it represented his repayment of the debt which he owed to Jackson. And now to this feeling was added that of the greatest joy of his life in having it in his power to remove from the sweetest girl in the world the terror which she believed to be hanging over her head. He felt that every step which he was taking westward was bringing him nearer to the realisation of his longing-his longing to see the white roses on Mary's cheeks change to red once more. It was a disappointment to him to learn that Mary had gone down to Barton with the Bunburys. Her mother, who met him in the hall, told him this with a grave face as she brought him into a parlour. “I think she expected you to call during the past ten days, Dr. Goldsmith,” said the lady. “I believe that she was more than a little disappointed that you could not find time to come to her.” “Was she, indeed? Did she really expect me to call?” he asked. This fresh proof of the confidence which the Jessamy Bride reposed in him was very dear to him. She had not merely entrusted him with her enterprise on the chance of his being able to save her; she had had confidence in his ability to save her, and had looked for his coming to tell her of his success. “She seemed very anxious to see you,” said Mrs. Horneck. “I fear, dear Dr. Goldsmith, that my poor child has something on her mind. That is her sister's idea also. And yet it is impossible that she should have any secret trouble; she has not been out of our sight since her visit to Devonshire last year. At that time she had, I believe, some silly, girlish fancy--my brother wrote to me that there had been in his neighbourhood a certain attractive man, an officer who had returned home with a wound received in the war with the American rebels. But surely she has got over that foolishness!”