e vivacity died out of Anstice's face; and again its
hopeless expression struck Sir Richard with a sense of pain.

"Of course the thing is not exactly a lie," he said. "I mean, I did act
too hastily, though God knows I did it for the best. But if the whole
story is to be raked up again--by Jove, I believe after all it would be
better to let sleeping dogs lie!"

"You forget--this is not the first letter which has fallen like a
bombshell into Littlefield," Sir Richard reminded him quietly; and
Anstice flushed a dull red.

"Of course not ... what a fool I am! Thinking of the past, of that
horrible morning, I forgot Mrs. Carstairs. But"--he squared his
shoulders aggressively--"I shall not forgot again. This thing is going
to be sifted now, and the mystery solved. May I take these letters with
me?"

"Certainly." Sir Richard felt Anstice had the better right to the
documents. "You will take care of them, of course; and if you follow my
advice you will not show them to anyone--yet."

"Quite so." Anstice put the two letters carefully away in his
pocket-book. "Now I must go, Sir Richard; but please believe I am
grateful for your kindness in this matter."

He shook hands with Sir Richard, and hurried away to his waiting car;
and as he drove from the house his lips were firmly set together, and
the look in his eyes betokened no good to the wretched creature who had
penned this latest communication.

And Sir Richard, watching him from a side window, felt a sharp pang of
regret that this man, whom he liked and trusted, had not managed,
apparently, to win his daughter's affection.

"Damme if I wouldn't rather have had him for a son-in-law than the
other," he said to himself presently. "Cheniston's a decent fellow
enough, brainy and a thoroughly steady sort of chap, but there is
something about this man that I rather admire. It may be his pluck, or
his quiet tenacity of purpose--I'm hanged if I know what it is; but on
my soul I'm inclined to wish I'd been called upon to give my little girl
into his keeping. As for that affair in India, it's not every man who
would have had the pluck to shoot the girl, and precious few men would
have lived it down as he has done. I believe I'd have put a bullet
through my brain if it had been me," said Sir Richard honestly, "but I
can quite realize that it's a long sight finer to see the thing through.
And if there's to be fresh trouble over these confounded anonymous
scrawls, well, I'll stic