Alpha Book

"
There was a tap at the door. The tall footman threw it open and ushered
in Sir Roger Trajenna. The stately old baronet looked ten years older in
these few days. Anxiety told upon him more hardly than his seventy yews.
"Good-evening, Sir Roger!" cried Mr. Walraven, advancing eagerly. "Any
news of Mollie?"
He expected to hear "No," but the baronet said "Yes." He was deeply
agitated, and held forth, in a hand that shook, a note to Carl Walraven.
"I received that an hour ago, through the post-office. For Heaven's
sake, read, and tell me what you think of it!"
He dropped exhausted into a chair. Carl Walraven tore open the brief
epistle, and devoured its contents:
"SIR ROGER TRAJENNA,--Give up your search for Mollie Dane. It is useless;
a waste of time and money. She is safe and well, and will be at home in a
week, but she will never be your wife.
"ONE WHO KNOWS."
Mr. Walraven read and reread these brief lines, and stood and stared at
Sir Roger Trajenna.
"Good heavens! You got this through the post-office?"
"I did, an hour ago, and came here at once.


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