the child, in your own mind? It would be
inexcusably foolish on my part to speak too plainly, just yet. The hint
must be a vague one. Suppose I use a poetical expression, and say that
the young lady is enveloped in mystery from head to foot--especially the
foot?

"In the event of my addressing the right person, I beg to offer a
suggestion for a preliminary interview.

"If you will take a walk on the bridge over the Serpentine River, on
Kensington Gardens side, at half-past ten o'clock to-morrow morning,
holding a white handkerchief in your left hand, you will meet the
much-injured woman, who was deceived into taking charge of the infant
child at Ramsgate, and will be satisfied so far that you are giving your
confidence to persons who really deserve it."

Jervy addressed this infamous letter to Mrs. Farnaby, in an ordinary
envelope, marked "Private." He posted it, that night, with his own hand.

CHAPTER 4

"Rufus! I don't quite like the way you look at me. You seem to think--"

"Give it tongue, my son. What do I seem to think?"

"You think I'm forgetting Regina. You don't believe I'm just as fond of
her as ever. The fact is, you're an old bachelor."

"That is so. Where's the harm, Amelius?"

"I don't understand--"

"You're out there, my bright boy. I reckon I understand more than you
think for. The wisest thing you ever did in your life is what you did
this evening, when you committed Sally to the care of those ladies at
the Home."

"Good night, Rufus. We shall quarrel if I stay here any longer."

"Good night, Amelius. We shan't quarrel, stay here as long as you like."

The good deed had been done; the sacrifice--already a painful
sacrifice--had been made. Mrs. Payson was old enough to speak plainly,
as well as seriously, to Amelius of the absolute necessity of separating
himself from Simple Sally, without any needless delay. "You have seen
for yourself," she said, "that the plan on which this little household
is ruled is the unvarying plan of patience and kindness. So far as Sally
is concerned, you can be quite sure that she will never hear a harsh
word, never meet with a hard look, while she is under our care. The
lamentable neglect under which the poor creature has suffered, will be
tenderly remembered and atoned for, here. If we can't make her happy
among us, I promise that she shall leave the Home, if she wishes it, in
six weeks' time. As to yourself, consider your position if you persist
in tak