'You are stupid little ingrate, I am employ by Monsieur Ruthyn, and of
course I am faithful to my employer. I do not want to talk to you. _There_,
you may read that.'
She jerked the letter before me on the table. It contained but these
words:--
Bartram-Haugh:
'_30th January, 1845_.
'MY DEAR MADAME,
'Be so good as to take the half-past eight o'clock train to _Dover_
to-night. Beds are prepared.--Yours very truly,
SILAS RUTHYN.'
I cannot say what it was in this short advice that struck me with fear. Was
it the thick line beneath the word 'Dover,' that was so uncalled for, and
gave me a faint but terrible sense of something preconcerted?
I said to Madame--
'Why is "Dover" underlined?'
'I do not know, little fool, no more than you. How can I tell what is
passing in your oncle's head when he make that a mark?'
'Has it not a meaning, Madame?'
'How can you talk like that?' she answered, more in her old way. 'You are
either mocking of me, or you are becoming truly a fool!'
She rang the bell, called for our bill, saw our hostess; while I made a few
hasty prepartions in my room.
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