it from my hands into his hands," she said. "And I am to
give it to him in no other way."

"Shall I write, and tell him what you have said?"

"Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth."

"Yes, yes. But about the letter?"

"If he wants the letter, he must come back here, and get it from Me."

With those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's Hole. The
detective-fever burnt up all my dignity on the spot. I followed her,
and tried to make her talk. All in vain. It was my misfortune to be
a man--and Limping Lucy enjoyed disappointing me. Later in the day, I
tried my luck with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only cry,
and recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I found the
fisherman on the beach. He said it was "a bad job," and went on mending
his net. Neither father nor mother knew more than I knew. The one
way left to try was the chance, which might come with the morning, of
writing to Mr. Franklin Blake.

I leave you to imagine how I watched for the postman on Tuesday morning.
He brought me two letters. One, from Penelope (which I had hardly
patience enough to read), announced that my lady and Miss Rachel were
safely established in London. The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed me
that his master's son had left England already.

On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared, gone straight
to his father's residence. He arrived at an awkward time. Mr. Blake, the
elder, was up to his eyes in the business of the House of Commons, and
was amusing himself at home that night with the favourite parliamentary
plaything which they call "a private bill." Mr. Jeffco himself showed
Mr. Franklin into his father's study. "My dear Franklin! why do you
surprise me in this way? Anything wrong?" "Yes; something wrong with
Rachel; I am dreadfully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. But
I can't listen to you now." "When can you listen?" "My dear boy! I
won't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session, not a moment
before. Good-night." "Thank you, sir. Good-night."

Such was the conversation, inside the study, as reported to me by Mr.
Jeffco. The conversation outside the study, was shorter still. "Jeffco,
see what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning." "At six-forty,
Mr. Franklin." "Have me called at five." "Going abroad, sir?" "Going,
Jeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me." "Shall I tell your
father, sir?" "Yes; tell him at the end of the session."

The ne