The tinker went to his table and
hurriedly wrote a line or two, folding and directing it.
"Go quickly, boy, an' tell her, an' then take this to Riley Brooke
for me."
The young man struggled a moment for self-mastery, rose with a sigh
and a stern look, and put on his hat.
"It is about bail?" said he, in a whisper.
"Yes," Darrel answered.
Trove hurried away. A woman met him at the door, within which
Polly boarded.
"Is she better?" Trove asked.
"Yes; but has asked me to say that she does not wish to see you."
Trove stood a moment, his tongue halting between anger and
surprise. He turned without a word, walking away, a bitter
feeling in his heart.
Brooke greeted him with unexpected heartiness. He was going to bed
when the young man rapped upon his door.
Brooke opened the letter and read the words aloud: "Thanks, I shall
not need thy help."
"What!" Trove exclaimed.
"He says he shall not need the help I offered him," Brooke answered.
"Good night!" said Trove, who, turning, left the house and hurried
away. Lights were out everywhere in the village now. The windows
were dark at the Sign of the Dial. He hurried up the old stairs
and rapped loudly, but none came to admit him.
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