It was his custom to go, every morning, first to his room in the Temple in case any letters might be waiting for him there; and on the following morning, a slight accident on the line having considerably delayed his train, he paused a moment before giving his order to the cabman. He was very late, and there was a feverish impatience in every line of his face. He had almost decided that any private letters might wait until the next day, when, with a sudden, unaccountable reaction, he sprang into the cab and told the man to drive to the Temple. He had apparently repented of the resolution by the time the cab stopped, for he sprang out with a muttered imprecation on the delay. There was only one letter waiting for him, and he caught it up fiercely. Then the handwriting in which it was directed caught his eye. All the tumultuous heat and impatience of his face died out suddenly and utterly. He stood for a moment staring down at the letter, white to the very lips. Then he seemed absolutely and physically to set his teeth, and in the intense hardness of determination which set its mark on every muscle of his face, his whole expression would have seemed to deteriorate, markedly and terribly, but for the desperation in his eyes which was little short of agony. He moved abruptly, crossed the room, unlocked a drawer in his writing-table, and thrust the letter in with quick, deliberate movements, unopened. He locked the drawer again sharply, and turned and went hastily out of the room. The letter was from Clemence; it was the first sign of her existence which he had received since their parting on that June evening nearly three months ago. He was looking only older, harder, and more recklessly resolute when about a quarter of an hour later he entered the office of the Welcome Diamond Mining Company. The feeble-looking little messenger was in solitary possession, and he looked up rather uneasily as Julian wished him a brief good morning and crossed to the door of the manager’s room. “Mr. Ramsay’s just gone out, Mr. Romayne,” he said. “I was to say he would be in again directly.” Julian made a curt gesture of assent and went on into the private room. There was plenty of work waiting for him, it appeared, and he was still applying himself to it with dogged concentration, when, nearly an hour later, the door opened and Ramsay appeared. “There you are!” he said indifferently. “I thought you weren’t going to turn up this morning.” Julian had just glanced up from the letter he was writing to acknowledge the other man’s entrance, and he went on writing as he explained briefly that his train had been delayed. “No particular reason for wanting me, I suppose?” he said in a brief, businesslike way, as he laid down his pen. Ramsay sat down deliberately, and put his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat. “Well, yes,” he said. “There’s a matter here which rather calls for the attention of the managing director.”