ner to place the seals of the Embassy upon the desk, drawers, and
other receptacles in Lord Lydstone's cabin. While they were thus
employed, Mrs. Wilders sat at the cabin-table under the skylight, her
head resting on one hand, and in an attitude that indicated the
prostration of great sorrow. The other hand was on the table,
fingering idly the various objects that strewed it. There were an
inkstand, a pen-tray, a seal, a blotting-book or portfolio, and many
other odds and ends.

This blotting-book, with the same listless, aimless action, Mrs.
Wilders presently turned to, and turned over the leaves one by one.

Between two of them she came upon a letter, left there by accident, or
to be answered perhaps that day.

The feminine instinct of curiosity Mrs. Wilders possessed in no common
degree. To look at the letter thus exposed, however unworthy the
action, was a temptation such a woman could not resist. She began to
read it, almost as a matter of course, but carelessly, and with no set
purpose, as though it was little likely to contain matter that would
interest her. But after the first few lines its perusal deeply
absorbed her. A few lines more, and she closed the book, leaving her
hand inside, and looked round the cabin.

Mr. Loftus and his assistants were still busily engaged upon their
official task. Neither of them was paying the slightest attention to
her.

With the hand still concealed inside the blotter, she folded up this
missive which seemed so interesting and important, and, having thus
got it into a small compass, easily and quickly transferred it to her
pocket.

She looked anxiously round, fearing she might have been observed. But
no one had noticed her, and presently, when Mr. Loftus had completed
his work, they again left the yacht for the shore.

So soon as Mrs. Wilders regained the privacy of her own room at
Misseri's, which was not till late in the day, she took out the letter
she had laid hands on in the cabin of the yacht, and read it through
slowly and carefully.

It was from Lord Lydstone's father, dated at Essendine Towers, the
principal family-seat.

"My dear boy," so it ran, "your mother and I are very grateful to you
for your very full and deeply interesting letter, with its ample, but
most distressing, account of our dear Anastasius. It is a proud, but
melancholy, satisfaction to know that he has maintained the traditions
of the family, and bled, like many a Wilders before him, for h