“DEAR VICAR--Mr. Eustace Woodville is quite correct in stating to you that he is a gentleman by birth and position, and that he inherits (under his deceased father’s will) an independent fortune of two thousand a year. “Always yours, “LAWRENCE FITZ-DAVID.” “Can anybody wish for a plainer answer than that?” Eustace asked, handing the letter back to me. “If _I_ had written for information about you,” I answered, “it would have been plain enough for me.” “Is it not plain enough for your uncle?” “No.” “What does he say?” “Why need you care to know, my darling?” “I want to know, Valeria. There must be no secret between us in this matter. Did your uncle say anything when he showed you the major’s letter?” “Yes.” “What was it?” “My uncle told me that his letter of inquiry filled three pages, and he bade me observe that the major’s answer contained one sentence only. He said, ‘I volunteered to go to Major Fitz-David and talk the matter over. You see he takes no notice of my proposal. I asked him for the address of Mr. Woodville’s mother. He passes over my request, as he has passed over my proposal--he studiously confines himself to the shortest possible statement of bare facts. Use your common-sense, Valeria. Isn’t this rudeness rather remarkable on the part of a man who is a gentleman by birth and breeding, and who is also a friend of mine?’” Eustace stopped me there. “Did you answer your uncle’s question?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “I only said that I did not understand the major’s conduct.” “And what did your uncle say next? If you love me, Valeria, tell me the truth.” “He used very strong language, Eustace. He is an old man; you must not be offended with him.” “I am not offended. What did he say?” “He said, ‘Mark my words! There is something under the surface in connection with Mr. Woodville, or with his family, to which Major Fitz-David is not at liberty to allude. Properly interpreted, Valeria, that letter is a warning. Show it to Mr. Woodville, and tell him (if you like) what I have just told you--’” Eustace stopped me again. “You are sure your uncle said those words?” he asked, scanning my face attentively in the moonlight. “Quite sure. But I don’t say what my uncle says. Pray don’t think that!” He suddenly pressed me to his bosom, and fixed his eyes on mine. His look frightened me. “Good-by, Valeria!” he said. “Try and think kindly of me, my darling, when you are married to some happier man.” He attempted to leave me. I clung to him in an agony of terror that shook me from head to foot. “What do you mean?” I asked, as soon as I could speak. “I am yours and yours only. What have I said, what have I done, to deserve those dreadful words?”