With what a trembling hand and beating heart I broke it open, and yet feared to read it—­so much of my destiny might be in that simple page.  For once in my life my sanguine spirit failed me; my mind could take in but one casualty, that Lady Jane had divulged to her family the nature of my attentions, and that in the letter before me lay a cold mandate of dismissal from her presence for ever.

At last I summoned courage to read it; but having scrupled to present to my readers the Reverend Father Brennan at the tail of a chapter, let me not be less punctilious in the introduction of her ladyship’s billet.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LADY’S LETTER—­PETER AND HIS ACQUAINTANCES—­TOO LATE.

Her ladyship’s letter ran thus—­

“Callonby, Tuesday morning.

“My dear Mr. Lorrequer,—­My lord has deputed me to convey to you our adieus, and at the same time to express our very great regret that we should not have seen you before out departure from Ireland.  A sudden call of the House, and some unexpected ministerial changes, require Lord Callonby’s immediate presence in town; and probably before this reaches you we shall be on the road.  Lord Kilkee, who left us yesterday, was much distressed at not having seen you—­he desired me to say you shall hear from him from Leamington.  Although writing amid all the haste and bustle of departure, I must not forget the principal part of my commission, nor lady-like defer it to a postscript:  my lord entreats that you will, if possible, pass a month or two with us in London this season; make any use of his name you think fit at the Horse-Guards, where he has some influence.  Knowing as I do, with what kindness you ever accede to the wishes of your friends, I need not say how much gratification this will afford us all; but, sans response, we expect you.  Believe me to remain, yours very sincerely,

“Charlotte Callonby.”

“P.S.—­We are all quite well, except Lady Jane, who has a slight cold, and has been feverish for the last day or two.”

Words cannot convey any idea of the torrent of contending emotions under which I perused this letter.  The suddenness of the departure, without an opportunity of even a moment’s leave-taking, completely unmanned me.  What would I not have given to be able to see her once more, even for an instant—­to say “a good bye”—­to watch the feeling with which she parted from me, and augur from it either favourably to my heart’s dearest hope, or darkest despair.  As I continued to read on, the kindly tone of the remainder reassured me, and when I came to the invitation to London, which plainly argued a wish on their part to perpetuate the intimacy, I was obliged to read it again and again, before I could convince myself of its reality.  There it was, however, most distinctly and legibly impressed in her ladyship’s fairest calligraphy; and certainly great as was its consequence to me at the time, it by no means formed the principal part of the communication.  The two lines of postscript contained more, far more food for hopes and fears than did all the rest of the epistle.