horseback straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn will undertake to do this, and I can trust you to see it done, I know."
Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at once.
"Here is another letter," said Mrs. Maylie, pausing to reflect; "but whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes on, I scarcely know. I would not forward it unless I feared the worst."
"Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am?" inquired Oliver, impatient to execute his commission, and holding out his trembling hand for the letter.
"No," replied the old lady, giving it him mechanically. Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, at some lord's house in the country; where, he could not make out.
"Shall it go, ma'am?" asked Oliver, looking up impatiently.
"I think not," replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. "I will wait till to-morrow."
With these words: she gave Oliver her purse,