Before she had taken many steps the rain began to fall in torrents, and in a few minutes the High Street of Lesser Thorpe was flooded with water. A furious wind, wailing and angry, drove the slanting spears of rain against her form, and she splashed ankle-deep through the water, so quickly had the flood risen. But Miriam did not care. There was that in her heart which made her callous to her surroundings--impervious utterly to any physical inconvenience. When she arrived at Pine Cottage, Mrs. Darrow, having heard the gate clash, herself came to the door. She was aghast at the change in her governess. "Good Heavens, Miss Crane, what is the matter?" "Nothing," replied Miriam tartly. "What should be the matter? I have just come from the Vicarage, and have been caught in the storm--that's all." But Mrs. Darrow did not think that was "all." She was convinced something serious was the matter. But as all her inquiries, direct or indirect, proved fruitless, she was forced to return to the drawing-room with her curiosity only the more keen because unsatisfied. Miriam ran up to her room, and locking the door, sat down to write a letter. It was a letter of but one page, but it contained the substance of the Shadow's advice to Jabez that he should remain in London. She directed it to him, care of Mother Mandarin, 20, Sago Lane, Lambeth; and having stamped and sealed it, was about to take it to the post. With her hand upon the key of the door she paused. Then she sat down and thought. It came upon her overwhelmingly that no longer could she bear her burden alone. She felt she must confide in somebody--must have the sympathy of some friendly soul. Again her thoughts turned to Mrs. Parsley. She was inclined to go and tell her everything as she had been before. Together Barton and this nameless spy were working for the end of Jabez. She felt convinced of it. Anything to save him from that--and indeed she herself must suffer with him. His downfall was hers too, and then----Yes, she would go. She unlocked the door, and with the letter under her cloak ran downstairs. In the hall she was confronted by Mrs. Darrow. There was an angry glitter in the widow's eye. "Where are you going, Miss Crane?" "To post a letter." "Cannot the servant post it?" "No," replied Miriam curtly, and left the house. Mrs. Darrow peered after her. "She goes out in this fearful rain to post a letter--herself," she thought. "More mystery! I won't stand it any longer. Dicky or no Dicky--money or no money--she goes this day month!" When Miriam returned Mrs. Darrow gave her notice. CHAPTER X. THE SQUIRE'S SECRET.