your
old friend. He asks you to forgive and forget."

She had made the peace between us. I was deeply touched; my eyes filled
with tears as I looked at her. She kissed me on the forehead and went
out. I afterward asked what had passed between them when Rothsay spoke
with her in the library. She never has told me what they said to each
other; and she never will. She is right.

Later in the day I was told that Mrs. Rymer had called, and wished to
"pay her respects."

I refused to see her. Whatever claim she might have otherwise had on my
consideration had been forfeited by the infamy of her conduct, when
she intercepted my letter to Susan. Her sense of injury on receiving my
message was expressed in writing, and was sent to me the same evening.
The last sentence in her letter was characteristic of the woman.

"However your pride may despise me," she wrote, "I am indebted to you
for the rise in life that I have always desired. You may refuse to see
me--but you can't prevent my being the mother-in-law of a gentleman."

Soon afterward, I received a visit which I had hardly ventured to
expect. Busy as he was in London, my doctor came to see me. He was not
in his usual good spirits.

"I hope you don't bring me any bad news?" I said.

"You shall judge for yourself," he replied. "I come from Mr. Rothsay, to
say for him what he is not able to say for himself."

"Where is he?"

"He has left England."

"For any purpose that you know of?"

"Yes. He has sailed to join the expedition of rescue--I ought rather to
call it the forlorn hope--which is to search for the lost explorers in
Central Australia."

In other words, he had gone to seek death in the fatal footsteps of
Burke and Wills. I could not trust myself to speak.

The doctor saw that there was a reason for my silence, and that he would
do well not to notice it. He changed the subject.

"May I ask," he said, "if you have heard from the servants left in
charge at your house in London?"

"Has anything happened?"

"Something has happened which they are evidently afraid to tell you,
knowing the high opinion which you have of Mrs. Mozeen. She has suddenly
quitted your service, and has gone, nobody knows where. I have taken
charge of a letter which she left for you."

He handed me the letter. As soon as I had recovered myself, I looked at
it.

There was this inscription on the address: "For my good master, to wait
until he returns home." The few lines in t