That's fair, and will
prove to you that, although not a parson like yourself, there is
still a spark of honor, if not of goodness, in the breast of
"Yours truly,
"THORNTON HASTINGS.
"If you were here this afternoon, I'd take you to drive after a
pair of bays which are to sweep the stakes at Saratoga this
summer, and I'd treat you to a finer cigar than often finds its
way to Hanover. Shall I send you out a box, or would your people
pull down the church about the ears of a minister wicked enough
to smoke? Again adieu.
"T. H."
There was a half-amused smile on the face of the rector as he
finished the letter, so like its thoughtless, lighthearted writer, and
wondered what the Widow Rider, across the way, would say of a
clergyman who smoked cigars and rode after a race-horse with such a
gay scapegrace as Thornton Hastings. Then the amused look passed away,
and was succeeded by a shadow of pain as the rector remembered the
real import of Thornton's letter, and felt that he had no right to
say, "I have a claim on Anna Ruthven; you must not interfere.
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