to--to--find out everything, and ask
them both what they mean."

"Then I won't," declares John, throwing out his arms decisively. "I
would not be bribed to do it. What! ask a man his intentions! I
couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. How could I look him in the
face again? They must fight the best battle they can for themselves,
like every one else. I won't interfere."

"Very good. I shall speak to Molly. And I really think we ought to go
and look them up. I have seen neither of them since breakfast time."

"The rain has ceased. Let us go out by the balcony," says Mr.
Massereene, stepping through the open window. "I heard them in the
school-room as I passed."

Now, this balcony, as I have told you, runs along all one side of the
house, and on it the drawing-room, school-room, and one of the parlor
windows open. Thick curtains hang from them and conceal in part the
outer world; so that when John and Letty stand before the school-room
window to look in they do so without being themselves seen. And this, I
regret to say, is what they see:

In the centre of the room a square table, and flying round and round
it, with the tail of her white gown twisted over her right arm, is Miss
Massereene, with Mr. Luttrell in full chase after her.

"Well, upon my word!" says Mr. Massereene, unable through bewilderment
to think of any remark more brilliant.

Round and round goes Molly, round and round follows her pursuer; until
Luttrell, finding his prey to be quite as fleet if not fleeter than
himself, resorts to a mean expedient, and, catching hold of one side of
the table, pushes it, and Molly behind it, slowly but surely into the
opposite corner.

There is no hope. Steadily, certainly, she approaches her doom, and
with flushed cheeks and eyes gleaming with laughter, makes a vain
protest.

"Now I have you," says Luttrell, drawing an elaborate penknife from his
pocket, in which all the tools that usually go to adorn a carpenter's
shop fight for room. "Prepare for death, or--I give you your choice: I
shall either cut your jugular vein or kiss you. Don't hurry. Say which
you prefer. It is a matter of indifference to me."

"Cut every vein in my body first," cries Molly, breathless but defiant.

["Letitia," whispers John, "I feel I am going to laugh. What shall I
do?"

"Don't," says Letitia, with stern promptitude. "That is what you will
do. It is no laughing matter. I hope you are not going to make a jest
of it, John."