She certainly must have dropped asleep, quite unconsciously.
The noise of the footsteps, also of hushed subdued voices had awakened
her--what could they be?
Gently, on tip-toe, she crossed the room and opened the door
to listen; not a sound--that peculiar stillness of the early morning
when sleep with all mankind is at its heaviest. But the noise had
made her nervous, and when, suddenly, at her feet, on the very
doorstep, she saw something white lying there--a letter evidently--she
hardly dared touch it. It seemed so ghostlike. It certainly was not
there when she came upstairs; had Louise dropped it? or was some
tantalising spook at play, showing her fairy letters where none
existed?
At last she stooped to pick it up, and, amazed, puzzled beyond
measure, she saw that the letter was addressed to herself in her
husband's large, businesslike-looking hand. What could he have to say
to her, in the middle of the night, which could not be put off until
the morning?
She tore open the envelope and read:--
"A most unforeseen circumstance forces me to leave for
the North immediately, so I beg your ladyship's pardon if I do
not avail myself of the honour of bidding you good-bye.
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