to read my thoughts and understand my feelings.

"'You would be quite as much alone in the parlour, sir, as you are
here;' she said, 'for I can see nothing of Mr. Lewis. Indeed, I have
been into his room, and I see he has not slept there last night,' and
she flung her apron over her head, and swayed backwards and forwards
crying 'Oh, anwl! beth na i!'[3] and she slowly and tremblingly drew a
note out of her pocket and handed it to me. 'Perhaps that will tell
you something, sir.'

"'Where did you find this?' I said,

"I found it on her bed after she died. Mr. Lewis had sent it by Madlen
the nurse.'

"I tore the note open--I never dreamt it was dishonourable, neither do
I now--and read the words which began the awakening that was to come
with such force and bitterness. They were these:

"'MY DEAR AGNES,--My warmest congratulations upon the birth of your
little one, and my deepest thanks for all your kindness to me and dear
Nellie. Without your help we should never have been united. Good-bye,
and may God grant us all a happy meeting at some future time.

"'Your ever grateful and devoted friends,

"'LEWIS WYNNE and ELLEN VAUGHAN.'

"I stared at the letter in a maze of troubled thought, the feeling
uppermost in my mind being 'too late! too late! gone for ever, my
beloved wife! and alienated from me for ever my little less loved
brother!'

"'And this, sir,' said Betto, drawing another letter from her pocket,
'I found on Mr. Lewis's table. I think it is directed to you.'

"I hastily tore that open also, and read words that I cannot even now
bring myself to repeat. They were too bitter in their tender
upbraiding, in their innocent ignorance of my suspicions. They spoke
of a love whose existence I had not guessed; of his devotion to Ellen
Vaughan, my wife's cousin; of his deep gratitude to Agnes for her
unfailing kindness to him and to his beloved Ellen; of his deep
distress at my evident dislike of him.

"'What has come between us, Meurig?' he said. 'What has become of the
faithful love of so many years? Is it possible you have grudged me the
shelter of your roof and the food that I have eaten? I can scarcely
believe it, and yet I fear it is true. Enclosed I leave you a cheque
which will pay for anything I may have cost you; further than that I
can only thank you for your, I fear, unwilling hospitality, and pray
that some day we may meet, when this mysterious cloud, which I have
deplored so much,