How could I say more?—unless my grounds against Lizzy Dene had been surer. Joseph took away the tea-things, and Mr. Chandos went to his own sitting-room. I stood at the little table in the corner of the room nearest the window, putting my workbox to rights. Some of its reels were on the window-ledge, and I moved to get them. I don't know why I should have done it; unthinkingly, I believe; but I drew aside the muslin curtain to look out on the lovely night, and found my face in contact (save for the glass that was between us) with that of another face, peering in. Terribly startled, I drew away with a scream. Mr. Chandos came back at the moment, and I gave a frightened word of explanation. Quick as lightning, he laid forcible hold of me, put me in a chair in the sheltered corner close to the workbox, ordered me to stay in it—_ordered_ me, and in the most peremptory manner—and turned to the window to fling it up. One moment and he had leaped out: but in his haste he broke a pane of glass. I sat there, trembling and shaking; the window open, the curtain waving gently in the night breeze—and the thought of that terrible face without. Mr. Chandos looked stern and white when he returned—not through the window—and blood was dripping from his hand. "I can see no one: but I could not stay long, my hand bled so," he said, snatching up his white handkerchief which lay on the table, and winding it round the palm. "But now—Anne, do you think these can be fancies of yours? This is the second time." "I wish I could think so. I am _certain_ a man stood there, looking in. He had not time to draw away. I just moved to the window from that corner, so that he did not see me approaching." "Whose face was it? That man's by the lodge-gates—Edwin Barley?" My very fear. But I did not dare to say it. What I did say was the strict truth—that it had all passed so momentarily, and I was so startled, as to allow no chance of recognition. "Can you find a piece of linen rag, Anne? I don't care to make a commotion over this. I dare say I can do up my hand myself: I'm a bit of a surgeon." I ran upstairs to get some, and began turning over the contents of my large trunk in search of it. In doing this, a small parcel, very small, got into my hands, and I looked at it with some curiosity, not remembering what it contained. As I undid the paper two sovereigns fell into my hand. They were not mine; I possessed none. As I looked and wondered, a strange thought flashed through my mind: were they the two lost sovereigns marked by Mr. Chandos? There was no time to stay speculating; Mr. Chandos was waiting for the rag. Finding it, I ran down. "You ought to put your hand in warm water, Mr. Chandos. There may be fragments of glass in it." "I was thinking so," He said; when at that moment Hickens came in with a letter. The man noticed the white handkerchief and its stains. "You have met with an accident, sir."