Write at once, giving full
directions.
"YOUR FRIEND."
Frances added a postscript in cipher, but I shall not translate it.
One morning, some three weeks after sending my letter, Frances came to me
in my closet in the Wardrobe, and I saw at once she was in great trouble.
Her eyes were red with weeping, and the woebegone expression of her face
would have been amusing had I not known that some good cause was back of
it. As soon as she entered I saw that she was going to speak, but closets
in Whitehall have ears, so I placed my finger on my lips to enjoin
silence, and spoke loud enough to be heard if any one was listening:--
"Ah, Frances, I forgot that I had promised to go with you to your
father's this morning. Wait for me at Holbein's Gate. I'll be there in
ten minutes."
Within the promised time I found Frances at Holbein's Gate, and we walked
up to Charing Cross, thence down the Strand toward Temple Bar.
"What is the trouble, Frances?" I asked, anxious to hear her news, which
I feared was bad. She was in great distress, and I saw that a flood of
tears was ready to accompany her tale of woe, so I said hurriedly: "Don't
cry. Laugh while you speak. You will attract less attention."
She tried to laugh, but the effort was piteous and became a failure, as
she said:--
"George Hamilton has sailed for Canada, and my heart is broken."
Again she tried to smile, but the smile never reached her eyes, for they
were full of tears.
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