I had
our private talk at Ham Farm. You will think I am mixing two things up
together. But I am not. Please to keep this about Geoffrey in your mind,
and piece it together with what I have next to say. The worst is still
to come. Miss Silvester's letter (inclosed) tells me this terrible
thing. You must know that I went to her privately, as Geoffrey's
messenger, on the day of the lawn-party at Windygates. Well--how it
could have happened, Heaven only knows--but there is reason to fear that
I married her, without being aware of it myself, in August last, at the
Craig Fernie inn."

The letter dropped from Sir Patrick's hand. He sank back in the chair,
stunned for the moment, under the shock that had fallen on him.

He rallied, and rose bewildered to his feet. He took a turn in the room.
He stopped, and summoned his will, and steadied himself by main force.
He picked up the letter, and read the last sentence again. His face
flushed. He was on the point of yielding himself to a useless out burst
of anger against Arnold, when his better sense checked him at the last
moment. "One fool in the family is, enough," he said. "_My_ business in
this dreadful emergency is to keep my head clear for Blanche's sake."

He waited once more, to make sure of his own composure--and turned again
to the letter, to see what the writer had to say for himself, in the way
of explanation and excuse.

Arnold had plenty to say--with the drawback of not knowing how to
say it. It was hard to decide which quality in his letter was most
marked--the total absence of arrangement, or the total absence of
reserve. Without beginning, middle, or end, he told the story of his
fatal connection with the troubles of Anne Silvester, from the memorable
day when Geoffrey Delamayn sent him to Craig Fernie, to the equally
memorable night when Sir Patrick had tried vainly to make him open his
lips at Ham Farm.

"I own I have behaved like a fool," the letter concluded, "in keeping
Geoffrey Delamayn's secret for him--as things have turned out. But how
could I tell upon him without compromising Miss Silvester? Read her
letter, and you will see what she says, and how generously she releases
me. It's no use saying I am sorry I wasn't more cautious. The mischief
is done. I'll stick at nothing--as I have said before--to undo it. Only
tell me what is the first step I am to take; and, as long as it don't
part me from Blanche, rely on my taking it. Waiting to hear from you,