"Ah," said Mr. Chandos, in a tone of raillery, as if making light of the affair, "this comes, Hickens, of doing things in a hurry. You must bring me a basin of warm water. I attempted to open the window, not observing it was fastened, and my hand slipped through the glass. Close the shutters. At once." Hickens went to the window: I stood by Mr. Chandos with the linen rag. "Presently," he nodded; "I must wait for the water. Open this for me, will you, Anne?" I unsealed the letter, and opened it. In handing it to him, my eyes accidentally fell upon my own name. "It is about me!" I exclaimed, in thoughtless impulse. Mr. Chandos ran his eyes over the lines—there were but few—and a scowl contracted his brow. He read them over again, and then folded the letter with his one hand. "Hickens, who brought this? When did it come?" "It came but now, sir. A lad brought it to the back-door. I happened to be standing there, and took it from him. 'For Mr. Chandos,' he said, and turned away. I thought how quickly he made off." "Should you know him again?" "No, sir, I think not. I'm not sure, though." "Well, bring the warm water." "Is the letter from Madame de Mellissie?" I asked. "I don't know who it is from," said Mr. Chandos. "It is anonymous." "Anonymous! And about me!" I stood looking at him. I connected this letter with the two sovereigns I had just found: was any one at work to ruin me in the estimation of Chandos House? "Mr. Chandos, that is not a pleasant letter, is it?" "Anonymous letters never are pleasant ones," he rejoined. "If I had my way, the writers of such should all be shaken in a bag together and sunk in the bottom of the sea. Do not let it trouble you; it defeats its own ends." "Will you allow me to read it?" "It would give you no pleasure." "But it might give me some light; and light is what I want just now; I do indeed. Let me see it, Mr. Chandos! I request it as a favour." "Very well. My showing it to you will prove the sort of estimation I have for it." Taking the letter from his unresisting hand, I opened it and laid it before me. It ran as follows:— "Mr. Chandos,—It is rumoured that you have some trouble in your house, and are suspecting your servants. The probability is that they are honest; they have been with you long enough to be proved. There are two strangers under your roof: the companion to Mrs. Chandos, and the younger lady, Miss Hereford. Please just reflect that all the misfortunes have occurred since these ladies entered Chandos. In doing this, perhaps you will find a way out of the wood. The suggestion is offered by "A Friend." "This would implicate Mrs. Penn as well as myself!" I exclaimed. "Yes," he said. "Forgetting that Mrs. Penn is a sufferer. Or perhaps not knowing it." The tears rose: I could not help it. "Then—do you doubt _me_, Mr. Chandos?" He touched my arm; and those grave eyes of his, half laughing then, looked right into mine.