With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. He told some of the particulars. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. “I have had adventures—oh, more than one, I can assure you. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go.
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