was calm and
unruffled. Nevertheless it was not without considerable anxiety that she
took the sheet of paper from the old lady's hands and began to read it.
It was from Mrs Harper--a touching yet dignified letter, and the cheque
was not returned. Mrs Harper began by thanking Lady Myrtle warmly for
her kindness; the money she had sent seemed indeed a 'godsend' in the
real sense of the word, and no secondary considerations could make her
think it would be right to refuse what might--what, she trusted and
almost believed, _would_ save her husband's life and restore him to
health--'even,' she went on to say, 'if it were _possible_ after this,
for us to think of you as an utter stranger, even then I would not dare
to refuse this wonderful help. But at the same time you will allow us, I
feel sure, to accept it as a loan, even though several years may pass
before it is possible for us to repay it. Your agreeing to this will
only immeasurably deepen, instead of lessening our inexpressible
obligation.' The letter then went on to give a few details of her
husband's condition, and the hopes and fears attendant on it. 'I am
writing in my lodgings,' Mrs Harper went on, 'before going to him as
usual at the hospital. So he does not yet know of this wonderful gift.
And I think, as in your kind thoughtfulness you wrote to _me_, not to
him, I am justified in accepting your aid without consulting him, so
that I may tell him it is _done_. Not that in my heart I have any
misgiving as to the view he will take of my action.' And lastly came a
simple explanation of the delay. Mrs Harper had been for a day or two at
Southcliff, as little Margaret was not well, and the rather stupid
landlady of her London lodgings had never thought of forwarding the
letter, knowing she was so soon to return. This with a few earnest words
of repeated thanks made the whole.

Mrs Mildmay looked up eagerly after she had finished it.

'You are pleased, dear Lady Myrtle?' she said. 'At least I mean,' and
she grew a little confused, for the old lady remained rather ominously
silent, 'you think it is a nice letter, don't you? It seems to me to
show peculiarly good feeling and good taste, for it cannot have been an
easy letter to write.'

'Oh yes, my dear, I quite agree with you,' said Lady Myrtle with just a
faint touch of impatience. 'I don't see how any one could think
otherwise of the letter. I am perfectly satisfied that--she,' as if she
shrank from naming the o