order to see him again--and well was I rewarded! By means of a hollow
cane he blew me in through the window a letter, cunningly rolled round
a leaden pellet.

Good Heavens! will he suppose I left the window open on purpose?

But what was to be done? To shut it suddenly would be to make oneself
an accomplice.

I did better. I returned to my window as though I had seen nothing and
heard nothing of the letter, then I said aloud:

"Come and look at the stars, Griffith."

Griffith was sleeping as only old maids can. But the Moor, hearing me,
slid down, and vanished with ghostly rapidity.

He must have been dying of fright, and so was I, for I did not hear
him go away; apparently he remained at the foot of the elm. After a
good quarter of an hour, during which I lost myself in contemplation
of the heavens, and battled with the waves of curiosity, I closed my
widow and sat down on the bed to unfold the delicate bit of paper,
with the tender touch of a worker amongst the ancient manuscripts at
Naples. It felt redhot to my fingers. "What a horrible power this man
has over me!" I said to myself.

All at once I held out the paper to the candle--I would burn it
without reading a word. Then a thought stayed me, "What can he have to
say that he writes so secretly?" Well, dear, I _did_ burn it,
reflecting that, though any other girl in the world would have