"I wish I were," said Stephen; "but I do happen to know the exact law in such a case, for I was concerned in one a few months back. There was, however, this difference between it and yours. The man who opened the mail-bag did it to obtain a letter not intended for him, and the contents of which enabled him to carry out successfully a plan for a gigantic robbery. But had the plot failed, the abstraction of the letter alone rendered him liable to seven years' imprisonment." "There must be mitigations," said Norman. "Unfortunately, there are none. The law has long been in existence, and has remained unaltered to the present day. The penalty for such an offence is seven years or nothing." Norman did not speak in reply, but made a rush to the library, and began to rummage amongst a collection of law books, for the Savells had been on the Commission for generations past. After some time, he found what he wanted, and it confirmed the opinion expressed by Stephen. He laid down the book in dumb despair, and seemed to age visibly before Steve's pitying eyes, and scarcely to heed the more hopeful words he strove to utter. Stephen, indeed, did not feel hopeful, so, naturally, his words had not a very genuine ring with them. He knew, as Norman might have done, how important it is to prevent the mails from being tampered with. Every subject of the Queen has an interest in their safe keeping, and every loyal subject should be their protector. So, with these thoughts in his mind, no wonder his words carried little consolation to Norman's. He, poor fellow, spent an almost sleepless night, and came down in the morning looking haggard and unrefreshed. He implored Stephen not to tell either me or Lucy what was hanging over him, and awaited as best he might the result of his rashness. It was hard to preserve a calm face and go into all the details in connection with wedding festivities without betraying his dread that his plans might never be carried out. But he went through his task with the courage of a martyr, and, after a long wearying day, lay down to dream that he was a prisoner in a felon's dress, and hopelessly severed from Lucy and the home of which she was to have been the mistress. CHAPTER V. THE Savell Arms, as the one inn at Overford was named, stood near the station and within sight of the Court, and furnished fitting accommodation for those who could be contented with exquisite cleanliness and simple country dainties, served by a village maiden instead of a town-bred waiter.