The words, "My dear," were half rubbed out: but they were visible enough
to his eyes. Wright turned his horse's head homewards, and Marvel and he
rode away. His heart was so full that he could not speak, and he did
not hear what Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on
slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them; and looking
back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. As they
drew near, Wright's attention was roused by hearing the name of _Banks_
frequently repeated. "What news, neighbour?" said Marvel.

"The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead; he died of an apoplectic fit, and
has left his daughter a power o' money, they say. Happy the man who
gets her! Good morrow to you, gentlemen; we're in haste home." After
receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress's note over again,
and observed that he was not quite pleased to see the words "My dear"
half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, "Have nothing more to do with her;
that's my advice to you; for I would not marry any woman for her
fortune; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. If she
loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as
this."

"Stay a bit," said Wright; "we shall be better able to judge by and by."

A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss Banks; nor did he
attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as he could for her promised
letter. At last it came. The first word was "Sir." That was enough for
Marvel, who threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to
him. "Nay, but read it, at least," said Wright.

"SIR,