Spikeman, as soon as he had returned to the cottage, took out his writing materials to concoct an epistle. After some time in correcting, he made out a fair copy, which he read to Joey. "`I tremble lest at the first moment you cast your eyes over the page, you throw it away without deigning to peruse it; and yet there is nothing in it which could raise a blush on the cheek of a modest maiden. If it be a crime to have seen you by chance, to have watched you by stealth, to consider hallowed every spot you visit--nay, more, if it be a crime to worship at the shrine of beauty and of innocence, or, to speak more boldly, to adore you--then am I guilty. You will ask, why I resort to a clandestine step. Simply, because, when I discovered your name and birth, I felt assured that an ancient feud between the two families, to which nor you nor I were parties, would bar an introduction to your father's house. You would ask me who I am. A gentleman, I trust, by birth and education; a poor one, I grant; and you have made me poorer, for you have robbed me of more than wealth--my peace of mind and my happiness. I feel that I am presumptuous and bold; but forgive me. Your eyes tell me you are too kind, too good, to give unnecessary pain; and if you knew how much I have already suffered, you would not oppress further a man who was happy until he saw you. Pardon me, therefore, my boldness, and excuse the means I have taken of placing this communication before you.' "That will do, I think," said Spikeman; "and now, Joey, we will go out and take a walk, and I will give you your directions." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS. The next day our hero, having received the letter with his instructions, went with the wheel down to the copse near to the mansion-house. Here he remained quietly until he heard Miss Melissa coming down the gravel-walk; he waited till she had time to gain her seat, and then, leaving his wheel outside, he walked round the copse until he came to her. She raised her eyes from her book when she saw him. "If you please, miss, have you any scissors or knives for me to grind?" said Joey, bowing with his hat in his hand. Miss Mathews looked earnestly at Joey. "Who are you?" said she at last; "are you the boy who was on this road with a knife-grinder and his wheel yesterday afternoon?" "Yes, madam, we came this way," replied Joey, bowing again very politely. "Is he your father?" "No, madam, he is my uncle; he is not married." "Your uncle. Well, I have a pair of scissors to grind, and I will go for them: you may bring your wheel in here, as I wish to see how you grind." "Certainly, miss, with the greatest pleasure." Joey brought in his wheel, and observing that Miss Mathews had left her book on the seat, he opened it at the marked page and slipped the letter in; and scarcely had done so, when he perceived Miss Mathews and her cousin coming towards him.