in seizing our opportunity the moment it offers.
I think We ought to speak to the gardener again
about the elderly woman who gave him the letter,
and then to continue our inquiries in the village.
But first let me ask a question. You mentioned
just now the alternative of consulting Mr.
Fairlie's legal adviser to-morrow. Is there no
possibility of communicating with him earlier?
Why not to-day?"

"I can only explain," replied Miss Halcombe,
"by entering into certain particulars, connected
with my sister's marriage engagement, which I
did not think it necessary or desirable to mention
to you this morning. One of Sir Percival
Glyde's objects in corning here, on Monday, is to
fix the period of his marriage, which has hitherto
been left quite unsettled. He is anxious that
the event should take place before the end of the
year."

"Does Miss Fairlie know of that wish?" I
asked, eagerly.

"She has no suspicion of it; and, after what
has happened, I shall not take the responsibility
upon myself of enlightening her. Sir Percival
has only mentioned his views to Mr. Fairlie, who
has told me himself that he is ready and anxious,
as Laura's guardian, to forward them. He has
written to London, to the family solicitor, Mr.
Gilmore. Mr. Gilmore happens to be away in
Glasgow on business; and he has replied by
proposing to stop at Limmeridge House, on his way
back to town, He will arrive to-morrow, and
will stay with us a few days, so as to allow Sir
Percival time to plead his own cause. If he
succeeds, Mr. Gilmore will then return to
London, taking with him his instructions for my
sister's marriage-settlement. You understand
now, Mr. Hartright, why I speak of waiting to
take legal advice until to-morrow? Mr. Gilmore
is the old and tried friend of two generations of
Fairlies; and we can trust him, as we could trust
no one else."

The marriage-settlement! The mere hearing
of those two words stung me with a jealous
despair that was poison to my higher and better
instincts. I began to think-- it is hard to
confess this, but I must suppress nothing from
beginning to end of the terrible story that I now
stand committed to reveal—I began to think,
with a hateful eagerness of hope, of the vague
charges against Sir Percival Glyde which the
anonymous letter contained. What if those wild
accusations rested on a foundation of truth? What if
their truth could be proved before the fatal words
of consent were spoken, and the marriage-settlement
was drawn? I have tried to think, since,
that the feeling which then animated me began
and ended in pure devotion to Miss Fairlie's
interests. But I have never succeeded in deceiving
myself into believing it; and I must not now
attempt to deceive others. The feeling began
and ended in reckless, vindictive, hopeless hatred
of the man who was to marry her.

"If we are to find out anything," I said,
speaking under the new influence which was now
directing me, "we had better not let another
minute slip by us unemployed. I can only
suggest, once more, the propriety of questioning
the gardener a second time, and of inquiring in
the village immediately afterwards."

"I think I may be of help to you in both
cases," said Miss Halcombe, rising. "Let us
go, Mr. Hartright, at once, and do the best we
can together."

I had the door in my hand to open it for her
—but I stopped, on a sudden, to ask an
important question before we set forth.

"One of the paragraphs of the anonymous
letter," I said, "contains some sentences of
minute personal description. Sir Percival Glyde's
name is not mentioned, I know—but does that
description at all resemble him?"

"Accurately; even in stating his age to be
forty-five——"

Forty-five; and she was not yet twenty-one!
Men of his age married wives of her age every
day; and experience had shown those marriages
to be often the happiest ones. I knew that—
and yet even the mention of his age, when I
contrasted it with hers, added to my blind
hatred and distrust of him.

"Accurately," Miss Halcombe continued,
"even to the scar on his right hand, which is
the scar of a wound that he received years since
when he was travelling in Italy. There can be
no doubt that every peculiarity of his personal
appearance is thoroughly well known to the
writer of the letter."

"Even a cough that he is troubled with is
mentioned, if I remember right?"

"Yes, and mentioned correctly. He treats it
lightly himself, though it sometimes makes his
friends anxious about him."

"I suppose no whispers have ever been heard
against his character?"

"Mr. Hartright! I hope you are not unjust
enough to let that infamous letter influence
you?"

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, for I
knew that it had influenced me.

"I hope not," I answered, confusedly.
"Perhaps I had no right to ask the question."

"I am not sorry you asked it," she said, "for
it enables me to do justice to Sir Percival's
reputation. Not a whisper, Mr. Hartright,
has ever reached me, or my family, against him.
He has fought successfully two contested
elections; and has come out of the ordeal unscathed.
A man who can do that, in England, is a man
whose character is established."

I opened the door for her in silence, and
followed her out. She had not convinced me. If
the recording angel had come down from heaven
to confirm her, and had opened his book to my
mortal eyes, the recording angel would not have
convinced me.

We found the gardener at work as usual. No
amount of questioning could extract a single
answer of any importance from the lad's
impenetrable stupidity. The woman who had given
him the letter was an elderly woman; she had
not spoken a word to him; and she had gone
away towards the south in a great hurry. That
was all the gardener could tell us.