dvanced up the path towards her.

Who was it? Not Mr. St. Leger, which had been Dolly's first momentary
fear. No, this was a different creature. A young man, but how unlike
that other. St. Leger was trim-built, smooth, regular, comely; this
young fellow was lank, long-limbed, none of his joints played
symmetrically with the others; and the face, though shrewd enough and
good-natured, had no remote pretensions to beauty. His dress had not
been cut by the sort of tailor that worked for the St. Legers; his
gait, instead of the firm, compact, confident movement which Dolly was
accustomed to see, had a swinging stride, which indeed did not lack a
kind of confidence; the kind that makes no doubt of getting over the
ground, and cares little for obstacles. As Dolly looked, she thought
she had seen him before. But it was very odd, nevertheless, the sort of
well-pleased smile his face wore. He took off his hat when he got to
the foot of the steps, and stood there looking up at Dolly in the porch.

"You don't recollect me, I guess," said he.

"No," said Dolly gravely.

"I am Rupert Babbage. And _that_ don't make you much wiser, does it?"

"No," said Dolly. "Not at all."

"Likely. But Mr. Copley has sent me down."

"Has he?"

"I recollect you first-rate," the stranger went on, feeling in his coat
pocket for something and producing therefrom a letter. "Don't you know
the day you came to your father's office?" And mounting a step or two,
without further preface he handed the letter to Dolly. Dolly saw her
father's handwriting, her own name on the cover, and put a stop to the
wonder which was creeping over her, by breaking the seal. While she
read the letter the young man's eyes read her face.

"DEAR DOLLY,--

"I can't get quit of this confounded Babel yet--and you must want
somebody badly. So I send Rupert down. He'll do everything you want,
better in fact than I could, for he is young and spry, and as good a
boy as lives. He will see to everything, and you can get off as soon as
you like. I think he had better go along all the way; his mother wit is
worth a dozen stupid couriers, even though he don't know quite so much
about routes and hotels; he will soon pick all that up. Will you want
to stay more than a night in town? For that night my landlady can take
you in; and if you let me know when you will be ready I will have your
passage taken in the packet.

"Hurried, as always, dear Dolly, with my love to your mother