THE TONE OF TIME
cheque, lay on my table, had been after all unable to wait. The note, I found, mentioned nothing but the enclosure; but it had come by hand, and it was her silence that told the tale. Her messenger had been instructed to "act"; he had come with a vehicle, he had transferred to it canvas and frame. The prize was now therefore landed and the incident closed. I didn't altogether, the next morning, know why, but I had slept the better for the sense of these things, and as soon as my attendant came in I asked for details. It was on this that his answer surprised me. "No, sir, there was no man; she came herself. She had only a four-wheeler, but I helped her, and we got it in. It was a squeeze, sir, but she would take it."
I wondered. "She had a four-wheeler? and not her servant?"
"No, no, sir. She came, as you may say, single-handed."
"And not even in her brougham, which would have been larger."
My man, with his habit, weighed it. "But have she a brougham, sir?"
"Why, the one she was here in yesterday."
Then light broke. "Oh, that lady! It wasn't her, sir. It was Miss Tredick."
Light broke, but darkness a little followed it—a darkness that, after breakfast, guided my steps back to my friend. There, in its own first place, I met her creation; but I saw it would be a different thing meeting her. She immediately put down on a table, as if she had expected me, the cheque I had sent her over night. "Yes, I've brought it away. And I can't take the money."
I found myself in despair. "You want to keep him?"
"I don't understand what has happened."
"You just back out?"
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