Polly was silent for a second or two, then her chin went up defiantly.
"To Mr. Raoul," she muttered.
"To M. Raoul!--to M. Raoul? I don't understand. Is M. Raoul--Oh, for
goodness sake speak, girl! What is that? I see a piece of paper in
your hand."
Polly twisted it in her fingers, and made a movement to hide it in her
pocket; but with the movement she seemed to reflect.
"He gave it to me; I don't understand anything about it. I was
shutting the window, when he whistled to me; he gave me this. I--I
think he meant it for you."
Polly's tone suddenly became saucy, but her voice shook.
Dorothea was shaking too, as her fingers closed on the note. She
vainly sought to read the girl's eyes. Her own cheeks were burning;
she felt the blood rushing into them and singing in her ears. Yet in
her abasement she kept her dignity, and, motioning Polly to follow,
stepped into the bedroom, unfolded the letter slowly, and read it by
the candle there.
_"My Angel,
"I have hungered now for a week. Be at your window this evening
and let me, at least, be fed with a word. See what I risk for you.
"Yours devotedly and for ever."_
There was no signature, but well enough Dorothea knew the handwriting.
A wave of anger swelled in her heart--the first she had ever felt
towards him. He had behaved selfishly. "See what I risk for you!"--
but to what risk was he exposing her! He was breaking their covenant
too; demanding that which he must know her conscience abhorred.
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