Delia hurriedly opened her business. Would one of them take a letter for her to London--an important letter to Miss Marvell that she didn't want to trust to the post. Whoever took it must go to the League office and find out where Miss Marvell was, and deliver it--personally. She couldn't go herself--till after the doctors' consultation, which was to be held on Monday--if then. Miss Jackson at once volunteered. Her face lightened eagerly. "It's Saturday. I shall be free. And then I shall see for myself--at the office--if they can give me anything to do. When they write, they seem to put me off." Delia gave her the letter, and stayed talking with them a little. They, it was evident, knew nothing of the anxiety which possessed her. And as to their hopes and expectations--why was it they now seemed to her so foolish and so ignorant? She had shared them all, such a little while before. And meanwhile they made much of her. They tried to keep her with them in the little stuffy parlour, with its books which had belonged to Miss Toogood's father, and the engraving of Winchester cathedral, and the portrait of Mr. Keble. That "Miss Blanchflower" was with them, seemed to reflect a glory on their little despised coterie. They admired her and listened to her, loath to let her go. But at last Delia said Good-bye, and stepped out again into the lights of the village street. As she walked rapidly towards Maumsey, and the village houses thinned and fell away, she suddenly noticed a dark figure in front of her. It was Marion Andrews. Delia ran to overtake her. Marion stopped uncertainly when she heard herself called. Delia, breathless, laid a hand on her arm. "I wanted to speak to you!" "Yes!" The girl stood quiet. It was too dark now to see her face. "I wanted to tell you--that there are suspicions--about Monk Lawrence. You are being watched. I want you to promise to give it up!" There was no one on the road, above which some frosty stars had begun to come out. Marion Andrews moved on slowly. "I don't know what you mean, Miss Blanchflower." "Don't, please, try to deceive me!" cried Delia, with low-voiced urgency. "You have been seen at night--following Daunt about, examining the doors and windows. The person who suspects won't betray us. I've seen to that. But you must give it up--you _must_! I have written to Miss Marvell." Marion Andrews laughed,--a sound of defiance. "All right. I don't take my orders from any one but her. But you are mistaken, Miss Blanchflower, quite mistaken. Good-night." And turning quickly to the left, she entered a field path leading to her brother's house, and was immediately out of sight.