"Mrs. John; rather a strange name, isn't it, sir?" "Mrs. John," repeated Henderson, beneath his breath, but he did nothing more. He understood it all now; she had run away with John Temple, and was called Mrs. John, and he needed no further information. He forgot all about the bonnet for his mother until the shopwoman reminded him of it. "Choose what you like," he said, "the lady is elderly--my mother--and a widow." "But does she wear a widow's bonnet, sir?" "I think not," answered Henderson, indifferently. "Something dark and good--what will it cost?" This matter was soon settled. The shopwoman chose a bonnet, and Henderson paid for it, and then drove back straight to his hotel. When he arrived there he at once addressed the following letter to Mrs. Temple: "DEAR MRS. TEMPLE: You were quite right. May Churchill is living at the address you gave me in Pembridge Terrace, and is called Mrs. John. I saw her leave the house and go into a shop, accompanied by an old woman. I went into the shop after they left it, and one of the girls there told me that she--May--was a Mrs. John, and that she was a newly-married woman, which I greatly doubt. I shall return to Stourton to-day, and go to-morrow morning with my news to Woodside Farm. May's father shall know how his daughter has been treated. And I remain, "Yours sincerely, "T. HENDERSON." This letter reached Woodlea Hall on the following morning, and when the squire opened the letter-bag, as was his wont, he rose and placed Henderson's letter in his wife's hand. "Here is a letter from London for you, Rachel," he said. Mrs. Temple's handsome face flushed, and then grew pale. She had not expected to hear for a few days, at least, from Henderson, yet she knew this letter was from him. She gave once glance of her dark eyes at John Temple's face, who was sitting at his usual place at the breakfast-table, and then without a word she rose and left the room, carrying her letter in her hand. But she was scarcely outside the door when she opened it. She read it in the hall, and a hard and bitter look came over her expression as she did so. She had been prepared for this news, yet it fell like a fresh blow upon her heart. That subtle feeling, whose existence she would not even admit, filled her with indignation against John Temple. "He shall leave here and go to his Mrs. John," she whispered to herself vindictively. "I will wait until Philip leaves the breakfast-room, and then I shall go to him and tell him all. John Temple had better have trusted me--now he shall have to pay the fullest price for his folly."