"Yes, and what do you mean, Miss Tilly Morris, by snatching what doesn't
belong to you?" cried Agnes, shrilly, as she started off to capture the
flying paper, that, eluding her, blew hither and thither in a
tantalizing way, and at last, falling at the feet of Will Wentworth, was
picked up by him as he came out of the hall.

"It is mine, it is mine," shrieked Agnes; "keep it for me."

But Tilly, who was nearer to him, whispered agitatedly,--

"No, no, Will; don't give it to her,--she is--she means--"

"Mischief, I see," whispered back Will, with a swift, intelligent glance
at Tilly.

"And if you wouldn't read it until--until I see you--oh, if you
wouldn't!"

Will looked at Tilly with wonder. This was certainly something more
serious than common. What was it,--what was the trouble?

But Agnes was by this time close upon him, reaching up her hand and
crying, "Give it to me, Will, give it to me!"

But Will laughingly thrust the paper into his pocket, and answered,--

"No, I'll keep it for you, and give it to you later; I don't think it
would be safe now. There's so much thunder in the air it might be struck
by lightning."