Marian preserved her composure while I described my interview with Mr.
Kyrle. But her face became troubled when I spoke next of the men who
had followed me from the lawyer's office, and when I told her of the
discovery of Sir Percival's return.

"Bad news, Walter," she said, "the worst news you could bring. Have you
nothing more to tell me?"

"I have something to give you," I replied, handing her the note which
Mr. Kyrle had confided to my care.

She looked at the address and recognised the handwriting instantly.

"You know your correspondent?" I said.

"Too well," she answered. "My correspondent is Count Fosco."

With that reply she opened the note. Her face flushed deeply while she
read it--her eyes brightened with anger as she handed it to me to read
in my turn.

The note contained these lines--

"Impelled by honourable admiration--honourable to myself, honourable to
you--I write, magnificent Marian, in the interests of your
tranquillity, to say two consoling words--

"Fear nothing!

"Exercise your fine natural sense and remain in retirement. Dear and
admirable woman, invite no dangerous publicity. Resignation is
sublime--adopt it. The modest repose of home is eternally fresh--enjoy
it. The storms of life pass harmless over the valley of
Seclusion--dwell, dear lady, in the valley.

"Do this and I authorise you to fear nothing. No new calamity shall
lacerate your sensibilities--sensibilities precious to me as my own.
You shall not be molested, the fair companion of your retreat shall not
be pursued. She has found a new asylum in your heart. Priceless
asylum!--I envy her and leave her there.

"One last word of affectionate warning, of paternal caution, and I tear
myself from the charm of addressing you--I close these fervent lines.

"Advance no farther than you have gone already, compromise no serious
interests, threaten nobody. Do not, I implore you, force me into
action--ME, the Man of Action--when it is the cherished object of my
ambition to be passive, to restrict the vast reach of my energies and
my combinations for your sake. If you have rash friends, moderate
their deplorable ardour. If Mr. Hartright returns to England, hold no
communication with him. I walk on a path of my own, and Percival
follows at my heels. On the day when Mr. Hartright crosses that path,
he is a lost man."

The only signature to these lines was the initial letter F, surrounded
by a circle of intrica