One glance told who was the writer (for she was no stranger to his peculiar chirography), to whom it was addressed, and what it signified.
"My Angel, one o'clock A. M. to-morrow. Signal, cry of an owl beneath your window. Carriage in waiting beyond the hedge.
That was all, but it needed not another word to let her, whose eyes now scanned it in indignant sorrow fully into their plans.
She sent a quick glance around to satisfy herself that she was unseen, then crushing the missive in her hand, went on her way deeply thankful that Juliet had lost and that she had found it.
Yet she was sorely perplexed and anxious; so disturbed that it was no easy matter to give the necessary attention to her pupils. What should she do? Appeal again to Juliet? It seemed utterly useless. But this thing must be prevented; yes, even though it cost her the loss of her situation.
But, Harry! she shuddered and turned sick and faint at the thought that he might be taken, identified, and put on trial for the crime committed years ago. He must be saved at all risks. She would go out, meet and warn him ere he had quite reached Roselands.
He would be furious; perhaps in his rage do her some bodily harm; but--he must be saved.
She would give this note to Mr. Dinsmore, she decided, telling him where she had found it, that she had been well acquainted with the writer in former years, and recognized the hand.
That would be sufficient to lead him to prevent Juliet's leaving the house, and if she could succeed in warning Harry away, going and returning unobserved, all would be well.
But her plans miscarried. Mr. Dinsmore, as she learned on seeking an interview, had left home after an early breakfast, taken hastily in his private room, and would not probably return until the next day.
Here was an unexpected difficulty; what now was she to do?
She was slowly mounting the stairs in half despairing mood, when a pleasant, girlish voice addressed her from the hall below.
"Miss Worth, Pomp has just got back from the city with the mail, and here is a letter for you."
Mildred bounded up the stairs with the last words, put the letter into the eagerly outstretched hand of the governess, and hurried on to her own room to revel in the delights of a long epistle from her mother and sisters.