  On the third of February she received a letter, the handwriting of whose address made her change colour: she had seen it once on Mrs. Peele’s desk. It was the first communication of any sort that she had received from the man who was to defend her life. She opened the letter with angry curiosity. My dear Mrs. Peele, [it read],—You will pardon me I am sure for not having called before this when I tell you that I have had a rush of civil cases which have hardly given me time for sleep and have kept me constantly in New York. And of course you have understood that there was really nothing I could do until my able confederate, Mr. Simms, had gathered in and digested all the facts in the case. Now, however, I am free, and the time has come when I shall be obliged to see you twice a week until the first of March. I have worked the harder in order to be at liberty to devote myself wholly to your case. Need I add how absolute that devotion will be, my dear Mrs. Peele, or how entirely every resource I possess shall be at your service? At two o’clock on Monday I shall be in the sheriff’s private office with Mr. Simms and my assistant, Mr. Lansing. Will you kindly meet us there? With highest regard, I am, dear Mrs. Peele, Yours faithfully, Garan Bourke. Patience read this carefully worded epistle twice, then laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I am glad he has declared himself,” she thought. “Of course I should have ignored the past, but it is a relief to think that there will be no awkwardness.” |
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