"Well, Nanny," he inquired, "where are you bound for, now?"
"To the post-office with a letter from Masther Hycy, sir. I wanted him
to tell me who it was for, but he would not. Will you, Mr. Clinton?" and
she held out the letter to him as she spoke.
Clinton felt a good deal surprised to see that it was addressed to his
uncle, and also written in a hand which he did not recognize to be that
of Hycy Burke.
"Are you sure, Nanny," he asked, "that this letter was written by Mr.
Hycy?"
"Didn't I see him, sir?" she replied; "he wrote it before my eyes a
minute before he handed it to me. Who is it for, Mr. Clinton?"
"Why are you so very anxious to know, Nanny?" he inquired.
"Sorra thing," she replied, "but curiosity--a woman's curiosity, you
know."
"Well, Nanny, you know, or ought to know, that it would not be right in
me to tell you who the letter is for, when Mr. Hycy did not think proper
to do so."
"True enough, sir," she replied; "an I beg your pardon, Mr. Clinton, for
asking you; indeed it was wrong in me to tell you who it came from even,
bekaise Mr. Hycy told me not to let any one see it, only jist to slip it
into the post-office unknownst, as I passed it; an' that was what made
me wish to know who it was goin' to, since the thruth must be tould."
Clinton in turn now felt his curiosity stimulated as to the contents
of this mysterious epistle, and he resolved to watch, if possible, what
effect the perusal of it might have on his uncle, otherwise he was never
likely to hear a syllable that was contained in it, that worthy relative
being, from official necessity, a most uncommunicative person in all his
proceedings.
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