you for weeks yet. To myself he addressed some words which will require a little attention and comment by-and-by, when I have time to bestow on them. At the moment he came in, I was busied with a note I had got from Mr. Yorke—so fully busied that I cut short the interview with him somewhat abruptly: I left him raving: here is the note—I wish you to see it—it refers to my brother Robert." And he looked at Shirley.
"I shall be glad to hear news of him: is he coming home?"
"He is come: he is in Yorkshire: Mr. Yorke went yesterday to Stilbro' to meet him."
"Mr. Moore—something is wrong?"
"Did my voice tremble? He is now at Briarmains—and I am going to see him."
"What has occurred?"
"If you turn so pale I shall be sorry I have spoken. It might have been worse: Robert is not dead, but much hurt."
"Oh! sir; it is you who are pale. Sit down near me."
"Read the note—let me open it."
Miss Keeldar read the note: it briefly signified that last night Robert Moore had been shot at from behind the wall of Milldean plantation, at the foot of the Brow; that he was wounded severely, but it was hoped not fatally: of the assassin, or assassins, nothing was known—they had escaped. "No doubt," Mr. Yorke observed, "it was done in revenge: it was a pity ill-will had ever been raised; but that could not be helped now."
