e waited in vain. Your
conduct to me is cruelty itself; I will bear it no longer. Consider! in
your own interests, consider--before you drive the miserable woman who
has trusted you to despair. You have promised me marriage by all that is
sacred. I claim your promise. I insist on nothing less than to be
what you vowed I should be--what I have waited all this weary time to
be--what I _am_, in the sight of Heaven, your wedded wife. Lady Lundie
gives a lawn-party here on the 14th. I know you have been asked. I
expect you to accept her invitation. If I don't see you, I won't answer
for what may happen. My mind is made up to endure this suspense no
longer. Oh, Geoffrey, remember the past! Be faithful--be just--to your
loving wife,

"ANNE SILVESTER."

Mr. Bishopriggs paused. His commentary on the correspondence, so far,
was simple enough. "Hot words (in ink) from the leddy to the gentleman!"
He ran his eye over the second letter, on the fourth page of the paper,
and added, cynically, "A trifle caulder (in pencil) from the gentleman
to the leddy! The way o' the warld, Sirs! From the time o' Adam
downwards, the way o' the warld!"

The second letter ran thus:

"DEAR ANNE,--Just called to London to my father. They have telegraphed
him in a bad way. Stop where you are, and I will write you. Trust the
bearer. Upon my soul, I'll keep my promise. Your loving husband that is
to be,

"GEOFFREY DELAMAYN."

WINDYGATES HOUSE, _Augt._ 14, 4 P. M.

"In a mortal hurry. Train starts at 4.30."

There it ended!

"Who are the pairties in the parlor? Is ane o' them 'Silvester?' and
t'other 'Delamayn?'" pondered Mr. Bishopriggs, slowly folding the letter
up again in its original form. "Hech, Sirs! what, being intairpreted,
may a' this mean?"

He mixed himself a second glass of toddy, as an aid to reflection, and
sat sipping the liquor, and twisting and turning the letter in his gouty
fingers. It was not easy to see his way to the true connection between
the lady and gentleman in the parlor and the two letters now in his own
possession. They might be themselves the writers of the letters, or they
might be only friends of the writers. Who was to decide?

In the first case, the lady's object would appear to have been as good
as gained; for the two had certainly asserted themselves to be man and
wife, in his own presence, and in the presence of the landlady. In the
second case, the correspondence so carelessly thrown aside m