d this
contingency sooner or later--yet now that it had come it did not seem
any the less poignant. Every post hitherto had brought letters from her
lover, each with a different postmark. Now his silence meant that he
was beyond the reach of any such civilised institutions. She would see
no more of his handwriting until she should again have heard the sound
of his voice. But--what if it were fated that never again should she
hear that voice?

"That's all the `hopes and fears' this week," said Selwood, holding the
leather bag upside down. Then gathering up the bundle of his own
correspondence he crammed it carelessly into his pocket and went out.

There was some irrigating to be attended to down at the "lands," and for
the next two hours Christopher was very busy. Then as he returned to
the house, he suddenly remembered his unopened correspondence. It was
near sundown, but there was half an hour to spare before counting-in
time.

Looking around, he espied a seat--the same rustic bench where we first
witnessed Violet's stolen interview. The place was shady, and cool and
inviting withal. Selwood sat down, and dragging the letters out of his
pocket and having laid them out, face downwards, along the bench,
proceeded to open them one by one.

They were mostly of the ordinary kind--business letters relating to the
sale of stock or corn--an official notification or two--soon disposed
of. But one he had opened near the last must have been of a different
nature. First a puzzled look came into his eyes--then he guffawed
aloud.

"Pray do not flatter yourself," began the missive, dispensing entirely
with the regulation formality of opening--"pray do not flatter yourself
in the idea that I am in ignorance of your whereabouts. Clever as you
may imagine yourself, not one of your disreputable movements takes place
unknown to me. I know where you are now, _and who is with you_. But it
is of no use. If you exercise your influence over that abandoned
creature to the utmost she can never be anything but your mistress. For
mark my words, Maurice Sellon, whatever you may do I will never set you
free. You are bound to me by a tie that nothing but my own will or my
death can sever. But I will never consent to play into your villainous
hands or into those of your creature Violet Avory--"

"Oh, good God in heaven," cried Selwood, horror-stricken. "What in the
world have I gone and done now! `Maurice Sellon! Violet Avo