to assist the Canadian police. They were
expected the following morning, when also the coroner's inquest would
be held.

As to Anderson's own share in the interview, when the two men parted,
with a silent grasp of the hand, the Doctor had nothing to say to the
bystanders, except that Mr. Anderson would have some evidence to give on
the morrow, and that, for himself, he was not at liberty to divulge what
had passed between them.

It was by this time late. Anderson shut himself up in his room at the
hotel; but among the groups lounging at the bar or in the neighbourhood
of the station excitement and discussion ran high. The envelope
addressed to Anderson, Anderson's own demeanour since his arrival on the
scene--with the meaning of both conjecture was busy.

* * * * *

Towards midnight a train arrived from Field. A messenger from the
station knocked at Anderson's door with a train letter. Anderson locked
the door again behind the man who had brought it, and stood looking at
it a moment in silence. It was from Lady Merton. He opened it slowly,
took it to the small deal table, which held a paraffin lamp, and sat
down to read it.

"Dear Mr. Anderson--Mr. Delaine has given me your message and
read me some of your letter to him. He has also told me what
he knew before this happened--we understood that you wished
it. Oh! I cannot say how very sorry we are, Philip and I, for
your great trouble. It makes me sore at heart to think that
all the time you have been looking after us so kindly, taking
this infinite pains for us, you have had this heavy anxiety
on your mind. Oh, why didn't you tell me! I thought we were
to be friends. And now this tragedy! It is
terrible--terrible! Your father has been his own worst
enemy--and at last death has come,--and he has escaped
himself. Is there not some comfort in that? And you tried to
save him. I can imagine all that you have been doing and
planning for him. It is not lost, dear Mr. Anderson. No love
and pity are ever lost. They are undying--for they are God's
life in us. They are the pledge--the sign--to which He is
eternally bound. He will surely, surely, redeem--and fulfil.

"I write incoherently, for they are waiting for my letter. I
want you to write to me, if you will. And when will you come
back to us? We shall, I think, be two or three days here, f