Do you hear?
(_The Servant retreats hastily_.)
_Mait_. The curse of having lived in these wilds cleaves to me in all
things. Here are Andre and Mortimer, and a hundred more, and none but I
for this midnight service.
_Ser't_. (_Re-entering_.) The horse is waiting, Sir,--but here's two of
these painted creturs hanging about the door, waiting to see you.
(_Handing him a packet_.)
There's no use in swearing at them, Sir, they don't understand it.
_Mait_. (_Breaking the seals hastily, he discovers the miniature_.) Back
again! Well, we'll try drowning next,--nay, this is as I sent it! That
rascal dropped it in the woods perhaps! Softly,--what have we here!
(_He discovers, and reads the letter_.)
Who brought this?
_Ser't_. The Indian that was here yesterday.
_Mait_. Alaska! Here's blood on the envelope, on the letter too, and
here--This packet has been soaked in blood. (_Re-reading the letter_.)
"To-morrow"--"twelve o'clock" to-morrow--Look if the light be burning in
the Lady Ackland's window,--she was up as I passed. "Twelve
o'clock"--There are more horses on this route than these cunning
settlers choose to reckon.
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