There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her
tone that made Mrs. Forbes very anxious, but
she judged it best to comply with her requests.

The letters were brought, the lights were
arranged so that she could read them lying on her
bed; and they left her. Then she got up and
stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms
clasped at the top of her head, her eyes dilated
and staring as if looking at some great horror.
But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly,
and began to read. Letters were evidently
missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity
who had been delayed on the journey, and had
not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been
despatched by the post, but the severe weather,
the unusual snow, had, in those days, before
the railway was made between Lyons and
Marseilles, put a stop to many a traveller's plans,
and had rendered the transmission of the mail
extremely uncertain; so much that intelligence
which Miss Monro had evidently considered as
certain to be known to Ellinor was entirely
matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed
at from what was told in these letters. One
was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown,
one from Miss Monro; of course the last
mentioned was the first read. She spoke of the
shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body,
discovered in the cutting of the new line of rail-road
from Hamley to the nearest railway station;
the body so hastily buried long ago, in its
clothes, by which it was now recognised—a
recognition confirmed by one or two more
personal and indestructible things, such as his
watch and seal with his initials; of the shock
to every one, the Osbaldistones in particular,
on the further discovery of a fleam, or horse-lancet,
having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved
on the handle; how Dixon had gone on
Mr. Osbaldistone's business to a horse-fair in
Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his
leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so
that he was barely able to move about when the
officers of justice went to apprehend him in
Tralee.

At this point Ellinor cried out loud and
shrill.

"Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying
myself."

They heard her cry, and came to the door,
but it was bolted inside.

"Please go away," she said; "please go. I
will be very quiet, only please go."

She could not bear just then to read anymore
of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr.
Johnson's letter—the date was a fortnight earlier
than Miss Monro's; he also expressed his wonder
at not hearing from her, in reply to his letter
of January 9; but he added, that he thought
that her trustees had judged rightly; the handsome
sum the railway company had offered for
the land when their surveyor decided on the
alteration of the line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c.,
she could not read any more; it was Fate pursuing
her; then she took the letter up again and
tried to read; but all that reached her understanding
was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent
his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that
she might know of some private opportunity safer
than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a
letter as he occasionally sent her from time to
time; a correspondence that arose out of their
mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness.
It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct.
Ellinor was on the point of putting it, aside
entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her
eye; "You will be interested to hear that the
old pupil of our departed friend who was so
anxious to obtain the folio Virgil with the
Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in
room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude
that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the
Virgil fancier."

"Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; " he judged
well; it would never have done." They were
the first words of anything like reproach
which she ever formed in her own mind during
all these years. She thought for a few moments
of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain
to think of them. Then she took up and finished
Miss Monro's letter. That excellent friend had
done all she thought that Ellinor would have
wished without delay. She had written to Mr.
Johnson, and charged him to do all that he could
to defend Dixon, and to spare no expense. She
was thinking of going to the prison in the
county town, to see the old man herself, but
Ellinor could see that all these endeavours and
purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love
for her own pupil, and a desire to set her mind
at ease as far as she could, rather than from
any idea that Dixon himself could be innocent.
Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the
door, then turned back, and locked them up in
her writing-case with trembling hands; and
after that she entered the drawing-room, looking
liker to a ghost than to a living woman.

"Can I speak to you for a minute alone?"
Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a
command. Canon Livingstone arose and
followed her into the little dining-room. "Will
you tell me all you know—all you have heard
about my—you know what."

"Miss Monro was my informant—at least at
first—it was in the Times the day before I left;
Miss Monro says it could only have been done
in a moment of anger if the old servant is really
guilty; that he was as steady and good a man
as she ever knew, and she seems to have a
strong feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always
giving your father much unnecessary trouble;
in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the
time was supposed to be the cause of a
considerable loss of property to Mr. Wilkins."

"No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that
some justice ought to be done to the dead man;
and then she stopped short, fearful of saying
anything that should betray her full knowledge.
"I mean this," she went on; "Mr. Dunster
was a very disagreeable man personally—and
papa—we none of us liked him; but he was
quite honest—please remember that."

The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing
words. He waited for her to speak again.