110
WYLDER'S HAJVD.
nent, just to keep Mr. Larkin in his place, and perhaps to
hint that he understood him.
When at the later breakfast, up at Brandon, that ir-
regular pencilled scroll reached Lord Chelford's hand, he
Boid, as he glanced on the direction —
"This is Mark Wylder's; what does he say?"
"So Mark's gone to town," he said; "but he'll be
back again on Saturday, and in the meantime desires me
to lay his heart at your feet, Dorcas. Will you read the
note?"
"No," said Dorcas, quietly.
Lady Chelford extended her long, shrivelled fingers, on
which glimmered sundry jewels, and made a little nod to
her son, who gave it to her, with a smile. Holding her
glasses to her eyes, the note at a distance, and her head
rather back, she said —
"It is not a pretty billet," and she read in a slow and
grim way: —
"Dear Chelford,— I'm called up to London just for
a day. No lark, but honest business. I'll return on Sat-
urday; and tell Dorcas, with dozens of loves, I would
write to her, but have not a minute for the train.
"Yours, &c.
"M. Wylder."
"No; it is not pretty," repeated the old lady; and,
indeed, in no sense was it. Before luncheon Captain Lake
arrived.
"So Wylder has run up to town," I said, so soon as
we had shaken hands in the hall.
"Yes; / drove him to Dollington last night; we just
caught the up train."
"He says he'll be back again on Saturday," I said.