"Yes—naturally."
"And left you without any satisfaction?"
"Yes."
"No satisfaction is to be got out of law—that is why I took to stuffing birds."
"What is that noise at the door?" asked Oliver.
"There is some one trying to come in, and fumbling at the hasp," said his father.
Oliver went to the door and opened it—to find Jamie there, trembling, white, and apparently about to faint. He could not speak, but he held out a note to Oliver.
"What is the matter with you?" asked the young man.
The boy, however, did not answer, but ran to Mr. Menaida, and crouched behind him.
"He has been frightened," said the old man. "Leave him alone. He will come round presently and I will give him a drop of spirits to rouse him up. What letter is that?"
Oliver looked at the little note given him. It had been sealed, but torn open afterward. It was addressed to him, and across the address was written in bold, coarse letters with a pencil, "Seen and passed. C. C." Oliver opened the letter and read as follows:
"I pray you leave me. Do not trouble yourself about me. Nothing can now be done for me. My great concern is for Jamie. But I entreat you to be very cautious about yourself where you go. You are in danger. Your life is threatened, and you do not know it. I must not explain myself, but I warn you. Go out of the country—that would be best. Go back to Portugal. I shall not be at ease in my mind till I know that you are gone, and gone unhurt. My dear love to Mr. Menaida—Judith."
The hand that had written this letter had shaken, the letters were hastily and imperfectly formed. Was this the hand of Judith who had taught Jamie caligraphy, had written out his copies as neatly and beautifully as copper-plate?
Judith had sent him this answer by her brother, and Jamie had been stopped, forced to deliver up the missive, which Coppinger had opened and read. Oliver did not for a moment doubt whence the danger sprang with
