Had there been only the ghost of a chance to stand out against the command, Jelly would have caught at it. But there was none. She disclosed what she knew: more than she need have done. Warming with her subject, when the narrative had fairly set in--as it was in Jelly's gossiping nature to warm--she also told of the interview she had been a partial witness to between Mrs. Cumberland and the doctor, and the words she had overheard. Richard North looked grave--startled. He said very little: only cautioned Jelly never to speak of the subject again to other people. "I suppose you will be asking Mrs. Gass about it, sir," cried Jelly, as he was turning to leave. "I shall. And should be thankful to hear from her that it really was nothing more than a receipt for plum-pudding, Jelly." Jelly's head gave an incredulous toss. "I hope you'll not let her think that I up and told you spontaneous, Mr. Richard. After saying to her that I should never open my lips about it to living mortal, she'd think I can't keep my word, sir." "Be at ease, Jelly; she shall not suppose I learnt it by any thing but accident." "And I am glad he knows it, after all!" decided Jelly to herself, as she watched him away up the Ham. "Perhaps he'll now be able to get at the rights and the wrongs of the matter." Richard North walked along, full of trouble. It could not be but that he should have taken up a suspicion that Oliver Rane--now his brother-in-law--might have been the author of the anonymous letter. How, else, could its copy have dropped from his pocketbook--if, indeed, it had so dropped? Jelly had not thrown so much as a shadow of hint upon the doctor; either she failed to see the obvious inference, or controlled herself to caution: but Richard North could put two-and-two together. He went straight to Mrs. Gass's, and found that lady at breakfast in her dining-room, with window thrown up to the warm summer air. "What is it you, Mr. Richard?" she cried, rising to shake hands. "I'm a'most ashamed to be found breakfasting at this hour; but the truth is, I overslept myself: and that idiot of a girl never came to tell me the time. The first part of the night I had no sleep at all: 'twas three o'clock before I closed my eyes." "Were you not well?" asked Richard. "I'd a touch of my pain; nothing more. Which is indigestion, Dr. Rane says: and he's about right. Is it a compliment to ask you to take some breakfast, Mr. Richard? The eggs are fresh, and here's some downright good tea." Richard answered that it would be only a compliment; he had breakfasted with his father and Arthur Bohun before leaving home. His eyes ran dreamily over the white damask cloth, as if he were admiring what stood on it; the pretty china, the well-kept silver, the vase of fresh roses. Mrs. Gass liked to have things nice about her, although people called her vulgar. In reality Richard saw nothing. His mind was absorbed with what he had to ask, and with how he should ask it.