"What's up?" I said. But he read on without replying; and, when I
paused and sat down on a sheltered rustic seat, he unconsciously
followed my example, looking more like a sleep-walker than a man in
the possession of all his faculties. At last he finished the
letter, and looked up in a dazed, miserable way, letting his eyes
wander over the fir-trees and the fragrant shrubs and the flowers by
the path.
"Dear old fellow, what is the matter?" I asked.
The words seemed to rouse him.
A dreadful look passed over his face--the look of one stricken to
the heart. But his voice was perfectly calm, and full of a ghastly
self-control.
"Freda will be my sister-in-law," he said, rather as if stating the
fact to himself than answering my question.
"Impossible!" I said. "What do you mean? How could--"
As if to silence me he thrust the letter into my hand. It ran as
follows:
"Dear Derrick,--For the last few days I have been down in the
Flemings' place in Derbyshire, and fortune has favoured me, for the
Merrifields are here too. Now prepare yourself for a surprise.
Break the news to the governor, and send me your heartiest
congratulations by return of post.
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