Then he wrote a short note to Mr. Gordon, containing certain instructions in the way of business, and an intimation that he might have to stay in town longer than he had anticipated, and, therefore, was not to be calculated upon at present. Having despatched which, he addressed himself to the matter he had in hand, with a quiet determination to carry it through, sooner or later, by some means. It was not his way to plot and scheme clandestinely, but being driven to do it, he did it promptly and with vigour. He wrote a long letter to Rachel, reviewing with delicate significance the position in which they had stood to one another on the day of their parting at Adelonga, and formally offering himself for her acceptance; and he begged her to appoint some time and place where, if she were willing, she could give herself and him an opportunity for coming to a mutual understanding. This letter he did not put into the post, being naturally distrustful of Mrs. Hardy, but he carried it in his pocket ready for any chance that might enable him to deliver it with his own hands--for which chance he began to search with diligence in every place of public resort where Rachel would be likely to appear. Rachel, in the meantime, was distracted with suspense and misery. She saw all possibilities of a legitimate meeting relentlessly and effectually circumvented. She was kept under such strict surveillance that she did not even see her lover's face, except on one occasion, when she was at the opera, and when, sitting between her aunt and Mr. Kingston, she was afraid to lift her eyes to look at him. She could do nothing in her own behalf, while she was uncertain of his intentions. She felt herself more and more hopelessly in the toils of her engagement, as day by day, Mr. Kingston--who yet had mysteriously changed somehow--became more and more obtuse to the state of her mind towards him, and more and more persistently affectionate and amiable, and as day by day, Mrs. Hardy, grown hard and unsympathetic, impressed more and more strongly upon her the fact that she was a penniless and friendless orphan who owed everything that she had to her. And all the time she loathed the very sound of Mr. Kingston's voice and the very touch of his hand, with an unreasoning passion of repugnance that she had never thought it possible she could feel for one who had been so kind to her; and as a natural consequence--or cause--she was consumed with a sleepless fever of expectation and longing for that other lover whom she loved. But such a state of things could not last, and after all it came to an end much sooner than either of them expected.