Mr Gaskoin to his
wife.

'She must make her peace with him to-morrow,' returned the lady; but,
alas! when they came down to breakfast on the following morning, Major
Elliott was gone, having left a few lines to excuse his sudden
departure, which, he said, he had only anticipated by a few hours, as,
in any case, he must have left them that afternoon.

By the same morning's post there arrived a letter from Vincent Dunbar,
addressed to Miss Seymour. Its contents were as follow:--

'MY DEAREST, DEAREST FRANCES--I should have written to you ten days
ago to tell you the joyful news--you little guess what--but that I had
applied for an extension of leave _on urgent private affairs_, and
expected every hour to get it. But they have refused me, be hanged to
them! So I write to you, my darling, to tell you that it's all
right--I mean between you and me. I'm not a very good hand at an
explanation on paper, my education in the art of composition having
been somewhat neglected; but you must know that old Elliott, whom your
dad wanted you to marry, is our senior major. Well, when I came down
here to meet Poole, as I had promised--his governor keeps hounds, you
know; a capital pack, too--I was as dull as ditch-water; I was, I
assure you; and whenever there was nothing going on, I used to take
out the verses you wrote, and the music you copied for me, to look at;
and one day, who should come in but Elliott, who was staying with his
governor on the West Cliff, where the old gentleman has taken a house.
Well, you know, I told you what a madcap fellow Poole is; and what
should he do, but tell Elliott that I was going stark mad for a girl
that couldn't have me because her dad had engaged her to somebody
else; and then he shewed him the music that was lying on the table
with your name on it. So you may guess how Elliott stared, and all the
questions he asked me about you, and about our acquaintance and our
love-making, and all the rest of it. And, of course, I told him the
truth, and shewed him the dear lock of hair you gave me; and the
little notes you wrote me the week I ran up to London; for Elliott's
an honourable fellow, and I knew it was all right. And it _is_ all
right, my darling; for he says he wouldn't stand in the way of our
happiness for the world, or marry a woman whose affections were not
all his own. And he'll speak to your aunt for us, and get it all
settled as soon as she comes back,' &c. &c.

The paper dropped from po