“You have been loved and trusted by pure and innocent women. You have been esteemed as a friend by myself, as well as by many another upright and honourable man. And I say it with pain, you have deceived us. My own child has made you her confidante----” Anne rose, and the stream of the Vicar’s eloquence suddenly ran dry. There was a moment’s silence, during which he felt a prey to greater and more paralyzing nervousness than he had experienced since the preaching of his first sermon. The pause was broken by the opening of the door, and the appearance of Burks with a letter on a tray. “This is sent down from the Vicarage, ma’am,” she said, addressing her mistress, “and the maid says will Mr. Carfax kindly read it at once.” She handed the tray to the Vicar, who took the letter, and with a murmured apology, broke the envelope. A note from his wife dropped out first. He picked it up, and hurriedly glanced through its contents. “_I am wild with anxiety. I send you the enclosed, which has just come from Mrs. Lovell, so that you may read it while you are with Miss Page. She may perhaps be able to throw some light upon the matter. At any rate, ask her advice. She is so good and wise._” The Vicar snatched up the other letter, which mechanically, in a dazed voice, he began to read aloud. “_MY DEAR MARY_, “_I hasten to tell you, though I fear too late, of something I have just heard about your dear Sylvia. She has signed a contract to go to America with a theatrical travelling company, and I am told that she has already sailed. The manager I understand to be a man of bad character, as indeed he must be to induce a girl to leave England without her parents’ consent. This has come to my knowledge in a roundabout way through a chorus girl who happens to be related to my maid. I should have telegraphed, but Simpkins has just showed me the announcement of the company’s departure from Liverpool, and in that case a telegram is useless._ “_All my sympathy, dear. In haste_, “_Your affectionate_ “_LAURA LOVELL_.” Mr. Carfax dropped the letter. In the waning light, Anne saw that his face was white. “You must have known of this!” he broke out fiercely. “You must have known, I say!” Anne moved swiftly to his side, and laid her hand on his arm. “It’s all right,” she whispered hurriedly. “I _did_ know. I stopped it. Sylvia is quite safe, at Carlisle House. If I had guessed that such news would reach you, I would have told you at once. I was going to tell you when you came in. But you put it out of my head,” she added simply. The Vicar’s colour had not returned. He stood mopping his forehead slowly with his handkerchief, his face working so painfully that Anne, her eyes full of tears, turned away. She opened her writing-table, and rang the bell. “What are you going to do?” stammered her companion.