We had no baggage to impede us, as we
intended to purchase new wearables in France: we had, on the previous
day, provided ourselves with money and letters of credit. My affairs
had been so arranged that neither my wife nor my mother could be
pecuniarily embarrassed by my absence. Philip's American passport,
used upon our former travels, was still in force and had been made to
include a travelling companion. So all was smoothed for our flight.
Taking my letter to the house in which Madge lived, I asked for her
maid, telling the house servant I would wait at the street door: for,
as I did not wish to meet any of the three ladies, I considered it
safer to entrust the letter to Madge's own woman. The girl came down;
but I had no sooner handed her the letter, and told her what to do
with it, than I heard Madge's voice in the hall above. She had come
out to see who wanted her maid, suspecting some trick of Falconer's;
and, leaning over the stair-rail, had recognised my voice.
"What is it, Bert? Why don't you come up?"
"I can't--I'm in haste," I blundered. "Good morning!"
"But wait! What's wrong? A moment, I entreat! Nay, you shall--!" And
at that she came tripping swiftly down the stairs. The maid,
embarrassed, handed her the letter. Without opening it, she advanced
to me, while I was wildly considering the propriety of taking to my
heels; and demanded:
"What is it you had to write? Sure 'tis your own hand.
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