Could I believe that ear?
No: and I looked up.

Could I trust my eyes?
Had I recognised the tone?
Did I now look on the face of the writer of that very letter?
Was this gentleman near me in this dim garret, John Graham--Dr.Bretton himself?
Yes: it was.

He had been called in that very evening to prescribe for some access of illness in old Madame Kint; he was the second gentleman present in the salle-a-manger when I entered.
"Was it _my_ letter, Lucy ?" "Your own: yours--the letter you wrote to me.

I had come here to read it quietly.

I could not find another spot where it was possible to have it to myself.