'Excellent girl! dutiful ward and niece!' murmured the oracle; 'heaven
reward you--your frank dealing is your own safety and my peace. Sit you
down, and say who is this Captain Oakley, when you made his acquaintance,
what his age, fortune, and expectations, and who the aunt he mentions.'
Upon all these points I satisfied him as fully as I was able.
'Wyat--the white drops,' he called, in a thin, stern tone. 'I'll write a
line presently. I can't see visitors, and, of course, you can't receive
young captains before you've come out. Farewell! God bless you, dear.'
Wyat was dropping the 'white' restorative into a wine-glass and the room
was redolent of ether. I was glad to escape. The figures and whole _mise en
scene_ were unearthly.
'Well, Milly,' I said, as I met her in the hall, 'your papa is going to
write to him.'
I sometimes wonder whether Milly was right, and how I should have acted a
few months earlier.
Next day whom should we meet in the Windmill Wood but Captain Oakley. The
spot where this interesting _rencontre_ occurred was near that ruinous
bridge on my sketch of which I had received so many compliments.
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