"And it won't cost nothing, gran'fa; not even a stamp," said the girl saucily. "Hi--hi--hi! You're a wicked one, Dally, that you are," he chuckled, as he took the pen, and after a good many preliminaries, settled himself down to write. "Do the envelope first, gran'fa," whispered the girl excitedly. "The envelope first, my pet. Ay, ay, ay." He bent over the table, and then, very slowly and laboriously, copied the address in a singularly good hand for one so old. "That's right," cried Dally, who was in a fever of impatience, but dared not show it. "Now the letter, gran'fa." "Ay, ay, I'll do it," he said, chuckling as he mastered the contents. "Don't you hurry, my pet. I don't often use a pen now. But I used to at one time, and there wasn't many as--" "Oh, do go on writing, gran'fa! Quick, quick! I want to get back." "Ay, ay, I'll do it," said the old man; and he devoted himself assiduously to his task to the end. "There!" he said; "will that help you, Dally?" "Yes, gran'fa, dear," she cried. "But you won't tell." "Tell?" he cried with a chuckle. "Nay, I never tell. I'm as close as the holes I dig, Dally. No one won't know from me." As he chuckled and talked, the girl hastily tore up the first note, and refolded and enclosed the second. Moistening the envelope flap with her little red tongue, which looked quite pretty and flower-like, as it darted from her petally lips to the poisonous gum, with a sharp "good-bye!" she thrust the envelope into her book, and the book into her pocket, to hurry back to the Rectory, conscious that she was followed by Joe Chegg, and never once turning her head. That night Salis sat by the shaded lamp, apparently reading, but a good deal troubled about North, respecting whom he had heard several disquieting rumours. Mary was busily working, and Leo finishing a letter to some relative in town. "Add anything you like to that for Mary," she said, rising. "I'm very tired, and shall go to bed." Salis frowned slightly, for it jarred upon him that every now and then his sister should go off to her room just before he rang for the servants to come in to prayers. He said nothing, however; the customary good-nights were said, and the curate and Mary were left alone. Half-an-hour later, Dally and the homely cook were summoned, the lesson and prayers road, and after the closing of a door or two the Rectory became very still. "I'll just look round, dear, and then carry you up; or shall I take you first?" "No, Hartley, dear," said Mary; "go first. Perhaps I may have something to say." "No fresh trouble, I hope," thought Salis, who remained ignorant that his sister intended a few words of reproach concerning Mrs Berens, for as he stepped into the hall, and stooped to slip the bolt, something white, which seemed to have been slipped under the door, caught his eye. "Circulars here in Duke's Hampton!" he said, picking up an envelope, and seeing that it was addressed to him.