into the darkness, faintly silhouetted against the wavering light of the
gas. A man stood there.

"Evening, miss," said the man. "Miss Jenny Blanchard?"

She could see there something white. He was holding it out to her. A
letter!

"For me," she asked, her voice still unsteady. She took the letter, a
large square envelope. Mechanically she thanked the man, puzzling at the
letter. From whom could a letter be brought to her?

"There's an answer," she heard. It came from ever so far away, in the
dim distance beyond her vague wonderings. Jenny was lost, submerged in
the sensations through which she had passed during the evening. She was
quite unlike herself, timid and fearful, a frightened girl alone in an
unhappy house.

"Wait a bit!" she said. "Will you wait there?"

"Yes," answered the man, startlingly enough. "I've got the car here."

The car! What did it mean? She caught now, as her eyes were more used to
the darkness, the sheen of light upon a peaked cap such as would be worn
by a chauffeur. It filled her mind that this man was in uniform. But if
so, why? From whom should the letter come? He had said "Miss Jenny
Blanchard."

"You _did_ say it was for me? I'll take it inside. ..." She left the
door unfastened, but the man pulled it right to, so that the catch