note-book.

'Here's my fly at the door, and you must--you must' (he was looking at his
watch)--'mind you _must_ think of it seriously; and so, you see, don't let
anyone see that. You'll be sure to leave it throwing about. The best way
will be just to scratch it on the door of your press, inside, you know; and
don't put my name--you'll remember that--only the rest of the address; and
burn this. Quince is with you?'

'Yes,' I answered, glad to have a satisfactory word to say.

'Well, don't let her go; it's a bad sign if they wish it. Don't consent,
mind; but just tip me a hint and you'll have me down. And any letters you
get from Lady Knollys, you know, for she's very plain-spoken, you'd better
burn them off-hand. And I've stayed too long, though; mind what I say,
scratch it with a pin, and burn that, and not a word to a mortal about it.
Good-bye; oh, I was taking away your book.'

And so, in a fuss, with a slight shake of the hand, getting up his
umbrella, his bag, and tin box, he hurried from the room; and in a minute
more, I heard the sound of his vehicle as it drove away.

I looked after it with a sigh; the uneasy sensations which I had
experienced respecting my sojourn at Bartram-Haugh were re-awakened.

My ugly, vulgar, true friend was disappearing beyond those gigantic lime
trees which hid Bartram from the eyes of the outer world. The fly, with the
doctor's valise on top, vanished, and I sighed an anxious sigh. The shadow
of the over-arching trees contracted, and I felt helpless and forsaken; and
glancing down the torn leaf, Doctor Bryerly's address met my eye, between