"It is not addressed to either of us."
"But it is the hand-writing of Sylvester!"
"I think it is. It looks very much like his hand-writing. But I am not sure."
"Oh, it's certain to be his; and if even it be not, you have an indisputable right to examine it, seeing that it was found on your premises, addressed to a person of whom you have no knowledge; but as it most surely is his, you have a double right to examine it, inasmuch as he is here under your especial care."
"But I should not like to wound his feelings."
"For that I would submit there is no necessity whatever. The thing may be concealed. He need not know that we have opened the note; he need not even know that you found it. The young rogue may have fallen in love. Who can tell? He may be the intended victim of some artful creature, whose object is to ensnare him. Who knows? We have heard of such things, and it hence becomes our duty to protect him;—we must put him on his guard, and not allow him to be sacrificed."
"Very true, my dear sir," said Aunt Eleanor, smiling; "I fully appreciate all that you have said, but would it not be equally effective if I were to have him in, and give him the note as it is?"
"As you please, my dear madam. I of course cannot presume to have any direct voice in the matter."
"But do you not think that it would be equally effective?"
"Perhaps it might. Oh! yes. We shall be able to see the changes of his countenance, and from those changes to draw inferences which may enable us to arrive pretty nearly at the truth. Oh! yes; I can see no objection whatever to his being called in."
Aunt Eleanor then rang the bell, and directed the servant to tell Sylvester, who was in the library, that she wished to speak with him for a moment.
"The name puzzles me," resumed the reverend gentleman. "I cannot imagine who Rosalie is! I have baptized all the young persons in the village, but I do not remember the name of Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie! Bless my life and soul, the name of Rosalie doesn't occur to me at all."
"My dear," said Aunt Eleanor, as Sylvester entered, "who is Rosalie?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, aunt, who Rosalie is. Rosalie, I presume is the name of a young lady, and a very pretty name she has got, but I do not remember to have met with any one named Rosalie. Who is she?"
"Nay, my dear, I wish to know from you who she is. I have not the pleasure of knowing the lady myself."
"Nor have I," returned Sylvester. But why do you ask me about her?"
"This note, my dear, I found in the arbour just now. It is your hand-writing, my love, is it not?"
"It looks very much like it. Rosalie! What is it all about?" he added, breaking the seal:—
