fessional duties
had been scrupulously fulfilled, and how in accordance with his
misconception of Lord Bearwarden's orders, every packet that reached
the house had been forwarded to its master without delay.

Hence it came to pass, that the vexed and angry husband received in
due course of post a letter which puzzled him exceedingly.

He had only just digested Tom Ryfe's unwelcome missive, announcing
somewhat vaguely that the revenge for which he panted must be delayed
two or three days at least, and had cursed, energetically enough,
his own friend's mismanagement of the affair, with the scruples
entertained by the other side, when a fresh budget was placed in his
hands, and he opened the envelopes as people often do, without looking
at their addresses: thus it fell out, that he read the anonymous
letter directed to his wife, asking for a meeting that same night, in
the vicinity of his own house.

"A cruel mystery has deprived you of your husband." What could
it mean? He studied the brief communication very attentively,
particularly that first line. And a vague hope rose in his loving,
generous heart, that he might have judged her too harshly after all.
It was but the faintest spark, yet he tried hard to kindle it into
flame. The wariest rogue is never armed on all sides. He is sure to
forget some trifling precaution, that, left unguarded, is like the
chink in a shutter to let in the light of day. Lord Bearwarden
recognised the same hand that had penned the anonymous letter he
received on guard--this argued a plot of some sort. He resolved to
sift the matter thoroughly, and instead of forwarding so mysterious a
request to his wife, repair to the indicated spot in person, and there
by threats, bribery, compulsion, any or all means in his power, arrive
at a true solution of the mystery.

It was a welcome distraction, too, this new idea, with which to while
away the weary interminable day. It seemed well perhaps, after all,
that the duel had been postponed. He might learn something to-night
that would change the whole current of his actions, if not, let Mr.
Stanmore look to himself!

That gentleman, in the meantime, had completely forgotten Lord
Bearwarden's existence--had forgotten Mr. Ryfe's visit the night
before at his club, the unintelligible quarrel, the proposed meeting,
everything but that Nina was lost. Lost! a stray lamb, helpless in the
streets of London! His blood ran cold to think of it. He hastened down