vel" said her ladyship,
with more firmness than she had yet shown. "I come to beg you will
make allowances for my anxiety about Marian, and let me follow her at
once by the afternoon train."

"You must wait till to-morrow," replied Sir Percival, "and then if you
don't hear to the contrary you can go. I don't suppose you are at all
likely to hear to the contrary, so I shall write to Fosco by to-night's
post."

He said those last words holding his glass up to the light, and looking
at the wine in it instead of at Lady Glyde. Indeed he never once
looked at her throughout the conversation. Such a singular want of
good breeding in a gentleman of his rank impressed me, I own, very
painfully.

"Why should you write to Count Fosco?" she asked, in extreme surprise.

"To tell him to expect you by the midday train," said Sir Percival.
"He will meet you at the station when you get to London, and take you
on to sleep at your aunt's in St. John's Wood."

Lady Glyde's hand began to tremble violently round my arm--why I could
not imagine.

"There is no necessity for Count Fosco to meet me," she said. "I would
rather not stay in London to sleep."

"You must. You can't take the whole journey to Cumberland in one day.
You must rest a night in London--and I don't choose you to go by
yourself to an hotel. Fosco made the offer to your uncle to give you
house-room on the way down, and your uncle has accepted it. Here! here
is a letter from him addressed to yourself. I ought to have sent it up
this morning, but I forgot. Read it and see what Mr. Fairlie himself
says to you."

Lady Glyde looked at the letter for a moment and then placed it in my
hands.

"Read it," she said faintly. "I don't know what is the matter with me.
I can't read it myself."

It was a note of only four lines--so short and so careless that it
quite struck me. If I remember correctly it contained no more than
these words--

"Dearest Laura, Please come whenever you like. Break the journey by
sleeping at your aunt's house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian's
illness. Affectionately yours, Frederick Fairlie."

"I would rather not go there--I would rather not stay a night in
London," said her ladyship, breaking out eagerly with those words
before I had quite done reading the note, short as it was. "Don't
write to Count Fosco! Pray, pray don't write to him!"

Sir Percival filled another glass from the decanter so awkwardly that
he upset it and spil