age
in my heart--one is always safe in indulging that feeling.'

A week or so after this there arrived for Miss Barfoot a letter from
Everard. The postmark was Ostend.

Never before had Rhoda been tempted to commit a break of confidence
such as in any one else she would have scorned beyond measure. She had
heard, of course, of people secretly opening letters with the help of
steam; whether it could be done with absolute security from detection
she did not feel sure, but her thoughts dwelt on the subject for
several hours. It was terrible to hold this letter of Everard's
writing, and yet be obliged to send it away without knowledge of the
contents, which perhaps gravely concerned her. She could not ask Miss
Barfoot to let her know what Everard had written. The information might
perhaps be voluntarily granted; but perhaps not.

To steam the back of the envelope--would it not leave marks, a rumpling
or discoloration? Even to be suspected of such dishonour would be more
bitter to her than death. Could she even think of it? How she was
degraded by this hateful passion, which wrought in her like a disease!

With two others which that day had arrived she put the letter into a
large envelope, and so dispatched it. But no satisfaction rewarded her;
her heart raged against the world, against every law of life.

When, in a few days, a letter came to her from Miss Barfoot, she tore
it Open, and there--yes, there was Everard's handwriting. Mary had sent
the communication for her to read.

'DEAR COUSIN MARY,--After all I was rather too grumpy In my last note
to you. But my patience had been desperately tried. I have gone through
a good deal; now at last I am recovering sanity, and can admit that you
had no choice but to ask those questions. I know and care nothing about
Mrs. Widdowson. By her eccentric behaviour she either did me a great
injury or a great service, I'm not quite sure which, but I incline to
the latter view. Here is a conundrum--not very difficult to solve, I
dare say.

'Do you know anything about Arromanches? A very quiet little spot on
the Normandy coast. You get to it by an hour's coach from Bayeux. Not
infested by English. I went there on an invitation from the
Brissendens; who discovered the place last year. Excellent people
these. I like them better the more I know of them. A great deal of
quiet liberality--even extreme liberality--in the two girls. They would
suit you, I am sure. Well instructed. Agnes,