She had taken up the same pen and laid it down again fifty times, and had considered and re-considered the very first line of her letter without writing the first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in the streets with Mr. Giles for a body-guard, entered the room in such breathless haste and violent agitation, as seemed to betoken some new cause of alarm.
"What makes you look so flurried?" asked Rose, advancing to meet him. "Speak to me, Oliver."
"I hardly know how; I feel as if I should be choked," replied the boy. "Oh dear! to think that I should see him at last, and you should be able to know that I have told you all the truth!"
"I never thought you had told us any thing but the truth, dear," said Rose, soothing him. "But what is this?—of whom do you speak?"
"I have seen the gentleman," replied Oliver, scarcely able to articulate, "the gentleman who was so good to me—Mr. Brownlow, that we have so often talked about."
"Where?" asked Rose.
