etter which the doctor had repeated to him in Mrs.
Armadale's words. The nearer he approached his unknown responsibility,
the more ominous it seemed of something serious to come. Should he risk
another question before he pledged himself irrevocably? As the doubt
crossed his mind, he felt Mrs. Armadale's silk dress touch him on the
side furthest from her husband. Her delicate dark hand was laid gently
on his arm; her full deep African eyes looked at him in submissive
entreaty. "My husband is very anxious," she whispered. "Will you quiet
his anxiety, sir, by taking your place at the writing-table?"

It was from _her_ lips that the request came--from the lips of the
person who had the best right to hesitate, the wife who was excluded
from the secret! Most men in Mr. Neal's position would have given up all
their safeguards on the spot. The Scotchman gave them all up but one.

"I will write what you wish me to write," he said, addressing Mr.
Armadale. "I will seal it in your presence; and I will post it to your
executor myself. But, in engaging to do this, I must beg you to remember
that I am acting entirely in the dark; and I must ask you to excuse
me, if I reserve my own entire freedom of action, when your wishes
in relation to the writing and the posting of the letter have been
fulfilled."

"Do you give me your promise?"

"If you want my promise, sir, I will give it--subject to the condition I
have just named."

"Take your condition, and keep your promise. My desk," he added, looking
at his wife for the first time.

She crossed the room eagerly to fetch the desk from a chair in a corner.
Returning with it, she made a passing sign to the negress, who still
stood, grim and silent, in the place that she had occupied from the
first. The woman advanced, obedient to the sign, to take the child from
the bed. At the instant when she touched him, the father's eyes--fixed
previously on the desk--turned on her with the stealthy quickness of
a cat. "No!" he said. "No!" echoed the fresh voice of the boy, still
charmed with his plaything, and still liking his place on the bed. The
negress left the room, and the child, in high triumph, trotted his toy
soldier up and down on the bedclothes that lay rumpled over his father's
breast. His mother's lovely face contracted with a pang of jealousy as
she looked at him.

"Shall I open your desk?" she asked, pushing back the child's plaything
sharply while she spoke. An answering look fro