This answer satisfied Reid that he had not been mistaken. Henderson had had time then to reach Newstead after he had fired the shot in Henley Wood that had killed Brown Bess. And the idea frightened Reid. He had not, in fact, believed Henderson before capable of deliberate murder. He knew he had not gone to the ridge above Fern Dene intending to shoot poor Elsie Wray. The girl's threats and taunts had maddened him, and in a moment of uncontrollable passion he had killed her. But this attempt on Reid's own life was a very different affair. It showed the man that he had to deal with a stronger and more savage and vindictive nature than he had expected. He had bullied and traded on Henderson's secret, never supposing that he dare attempt to throw off the yoke. But he had gone too far, and Reid now admitted this to himself, and determined to be more careful and more prudent in the future. But Henderson was ill for many days, and it was weeks after Brown Bess' death that Reid first saw his master. They met in the avenue by chance, while Henderson was walking with his mother, and leaning on her arm, for his strength was completely shattered. The faces of both men flushed when they saw each other, but Reid respectfully touched his hat as he approached the mother and son. "I hope you are feeling better, sir?" he asked, and for a moment he stopped. "Yes, I am better," answered Henderson, briefly, and he scowled and walked on, but there was a look in his sunken eyes that Reid did not care to see. Henderson, in fact, still nourished the bitterest animosity against the man who held his secret, and who had treated him with such insolence and disrespect. Nor as his health returned did he forget the loss of Brown Bess. He blamed Reid for this, and hated the groom with a deadly hatred that grew and grew. And during the days of his convalescence a letter came to him which did not tend to make him any happier. It was from Mrs. Temple, but was of a very vague and unsatisfactory nature. "I am sorry to hear you have been ill," it began, "but the address we talked of was not forthcoming, so I could not send it. J. T. wrote to his uncle certainly, but the sole address he gave was Paris, and moreover he said he was leaving that city next day. I can not help thinking it looks suspicious, but on his return we may learn more, as he mentions that in another week or so he would arrive at Woodlea. If I hear anything I will let you know; in the meanwhile perhaps you had best not come here. Yours very truly, "R. T." CHAPTER XXV. THE BRIDE. Miss Webster was agreeably surprised when she received her nephew Ralph's answer to her letter in which she had told him of May Churchill's marriage. It was a quiet, ordinary letter, and mentioned that affair in the most commonplace manner.