er and Horse Shoe set out this morning at daylight. And
Tyrrel went over there to breakfast: and you may suppose he was lucky in
not meeting the major, for I am sure there would have been a spot of
work if he had. Furthermore, I found out that Tyrrel followed on the
same road after Butler, so they may meet yet, you know."

"I pray not," said Mildred.

"Why pray not, sister? I pray they may meet. Let Tyrrel have all the
good of it. There, now I believe I have given you all the news, sister,
exactly as I picked it up. But here is a trifle I forgot," said Henry,
producing a letter addressed to Mildred. "Ah, ha, you brighten up now!
This was left by the major with Mrs. Dimock, to be forwarded to you with
care and speed."

Mildred tore open the letter, and eagerly perused its contents. They
consisted of a few lines hastily penned by Butler, at early dawn, as he
was about mounting his horse for the prosecution of his journey. Their
purpose was to apprise her of the discovery Robinson had made of the
true character of Curry, and also to express his fears that this latter
person might disclose to Tyrrel the fact of his, Butler's, visit. He
cautioned her to observe the conduct of Tyrrel, and to communicate with
him at Gates's head-quarters where he expected to be delayed a few days
on his journey: her letter, he said, might be forwarded by some of the
parties who at that time were continually passing southward: Henry might
look to this; and he concluded by assuring her that he would write as
often as he might find means of conveying a packet to the care of good
Mistress Dimock, who was sufficiently in the interest of the lovers to
keep faithfully any secret which they might confide to her.

This letter served to explain the cause of Tyrrel's sudden departure,
and to confirm Mildred in the opinion, which she had before expressed,
that this guest of her father was not ignorant of the interest Butler
had in her regard. Her determination therefore was to watch his motions
narrowly, and to make her lover acquainted with whatever she might
discover.

"It is even so," she said musing; "Tyrrel either fears or hates Arthur.
I shudder to think that that man should have any motive supplied him to
contrive against the peace or safety of one so dear to me. Wretch," she
exclaimed, "that he should be insolent enough to hope for my regard! Oh!
my father, my father, what a snare has been spread for you by this man!
Thank you, brother," she