The next day was Sunday, and in going to church they missed a call from
Hoskins, whom Elmore felt bound to visit the following morning on his
way to the library, and inform of his belief that the enemy had quitted
Venice, and that the whole affair was probably at an end. He was
strengthened in this opinion by Mrs. Elmore's fear that she might have
been colder than she supposed; she hoped that she had not hurt the poor
young fellow's feelings; and now that he was gone, and safely out of the
way, Elmore hoped so too.
On his return from the library, his wife met him with an air of mystery
before which his heart sank. "Owen," she said, "Lily has a letter."
"Not bad news from home, Celia!"
"No; a letter which she wishes to show you. It has just come. As I don't
wish to influence you, I would rather not be present." Mrs. Elmore
slipped out of the room, and Miss Mayhew glided gravely in, holding an
open note in her hand, and looking into Elmore's eyes with a certain
unfathomable candor, of which she had the secret.
"Here," she said, "is a letter which I think you ought to see at once,
Professor Elmore"; and she gave him the note with an air of unconcern,
which he afterward recalled without being able to determine whether it
was real indifference or only the calm resulting from the transfer of
the whole responsibility to him. She stood looking at him while he read: