“One more thing I beg you to do. Be silent about me to the man who keeps me here. If you intercede for me you will only do me harm. I don’t know myself why he keeps me here; he has never even let me know my own name. I know, as you know, that I am cursed with an infirmity which condemns me to a solitary life; but I ask you to judge whether it was necessary to treat me as I have been treated. I know he pretends that I am dangerous; and he has just this excuse, that, as far as he is concerned, he has made me so. But I will not write to you of him. The time for me to call him to account is nearer than he thinks. “If I see you in the garden to-morrow I shall know that you have found my letter, and that you forgive me. “DICK.” Chris had been interested in Mr. Richard. She had known of this interest, which had seemed to be occasioned by pity only. Now that she held his letter in her hands, and pressed it against her lips she knew more than this. She knew that the feeling she had for the forlorn recluse was something deeper, more tender than pity. She knew that she loved him. When she went downstairs to dinner, her face seemed transfigured, her fresh beauty had never been so brilliant. All eyes were attracted by the delicate colour in her cheeks, by the brightness of her eyes; and Donald, who guessed the cause for this unusual radiance, was jealous and sullen throughout the meal. The next day was that of the Graham-Shutes’ departure. The fair Maude thought it only right to warn her dear cousin John, before she went, to be on his guard against the Abercarnes, as they were very designing people. Dear cousin John retorted with a bombshell: “I hope, my dear Maude,” said he, coolly, “that one of them will no longer be an Abercarne by the time I see you again.” Crestfallen, the poor lady pretended not to understand. So John remorselessly explained: “Why, I hope to make Christina Mrs. John Bradfield before many weeks are over.” Poor Mrs. Graham-Shute drew a long breath. At last she said: “Whatever you do, of course, you have my best wishes for your happiness. But--lucky as you are, John,” she ended, with spiteful emphasis, “I wouldn’t tempt Providence too far, if I were you!” To which dear John answered by a roar of derisive laughter, which made Maude say to her husband, as they drove away, that, under the influence of those two harpies, John’s manners were deteriorating greatly.