Ordinarily Cousin Sarah Ann would have been ready enough with a reply to such a remark as this, but just now she was fairly frightened by her husband's tone and manner. She saw at a glance that he was in very serious earnest, and she knew him well enough to know that it would not do to provoke him further. She was always afraid of him, even when she was riding rough-shod over him. When he seemed most submissive and she most aggressive, she was in the habit of scanning his countenance very carefully, as an engineer watches his steam gauge. When she saw steam rising, she usually had the safety valve--a flood of tears--ready for immediate use. Just now she saw indications of an explosion, which appalled her, and she dared not face the danger for a moment. Without reply, therefore, she sank, weeping, into the nearest chair, while her husband walked into her room, opened her wardrobe, and took from it the little desk in which his son's letters and papers were locked. Coming back to her he said: "I will take the key to this desk, if you please." She looked up with a frightened countenance, and asked: "What for?" "I want to open the desk." "What are you going to do with it?" "I'm going to put it into my lawyer's hands." "Wait then. I must look over the papers first." "No; Billy will do that." "But there's some of mine in it, private ones." "It doesn't matter. Billy will sort them and return yours to you." "But he _sha'n't_ look at my papers." "Give me the key, Sarah Ann." "I can't. It's lost." "Very well, then," said he, taking his knife from his pocket, breaking the frail lock, and walking out of the house without another word. [Illustration: "VERY WELL, THEN."] Cousin Sarah Ann was thoroughly overcome. She knew that her husband had received the reply to her letter, which she had meant to receive herself, and she knew too that her mastery over him was at an end, for the present at least. Worse than all, she knew that the desk and its contents would inevitably go into Billy Barksdale's hands, and she had her own reasons for thinking this the sorest affliction possible to her. There was no help for it now, however, and she could do nothing except throw herself on her bed and shed tears of bitter mortification, vexation, and dread. Meanwhile Major Pagebrook galloped over to Shirley, with the desk under his arm. The conversation already reported between Billy and Miss Sudie, was hardly more than finished when he dismounted and walked into the young lawyer's office. He opened his business by telling Billy about the note held by Dr. Harrison. "I don't understand it," he said. "Harrison says the note is dated November 19th, which was just one day after Ewing came of age, and I remember that Ewing was taken sick on the morning of his birthday--very sick, as you know, and never left his bed afterwards." "When was Ewing at the Court House last?" asked Billy. "Not since the day Robert left."