"I have just heard from Sibylla--from Milldean. She encloses a letter for you, which she says I am to send on to you _to-morrow_. She insists that I am not to send it before; and if I won't do as she asks, I am to burn it. You are _not_ to have it to-day. I cannot disobey her in this; but she says nothing about my telling you she has sent a letter; the only thing is that I must not deliver it to you till to-morrow. I had no idea you had let her go down to Milldean alone. How could you let her do this? There is one other thing I must say to you. Walter Blake was to have dined here to-night. This morning he wired excuses, saying he was going for a cruise in his yacht. You must consider what that means. I beg you not to wait for the letter, but to go to Milldean _this afternoon_. Say nothing of having heard from me. Just go as if it was by accident; say you got your work done sooner than you expected, or anything you like; but go. I believe you'll be sorry all your life if you don't go. Let nothing stop you, for your own sake, and still more for _hers_.--C.F." That was the letter; the sentence he had turned back to re-read was the one in which Walter Blake's movements were mentioned. Grantley looked across to Jeremy. "Have you heard from Sibylla since she went to Milldean?" he asked. "Not a line. But she doesn't write much to me." Again Grantley looked at the paper. Then he laid it down and took up his pen. "Now for the deed," he said, and drew it to him. He signed. Thompson fulfilled the formality for which he was required, and then left them alone. Jeremy did not break out into new thanks. That unexplained something in Grantley's face forbade him. "I can only say that I'll try to justify your extraordinary kindness," he said soberly. Grantley nodded absently, as he rose and put Christine's letter into the fire. It was better there--and there was no danger that he would forget the contents. "I say, there's no bad news, is there?" Jeremy could not help asking. "No news at all, good or bad," answered Grantley, as he held out his hand. "Good-bye and good luck, Jeremy." Jeremy took his hand and gripped it hard, emotion finding a vent that way. Grantley returned the pressure more moderately. "Remember, under no circumstances, a word about it to Sibylla!" he said. "I give you my honour." "Good." He released Jeremy's hand and turned away. He had much self-control, but he could not be sure of what was showing on his face. Jeremy had his great good-fortune, but his joy was dashed. Grantley looked like a man whom heavy calamity finds unprepared. "All the finer of him to sign the deed then and there," Jeremy muttered as he left the house. "Whatever has happened, he didn't forget his word to me." But it had not been of Jeremy or of his word that Grantley had been thinking when he signed. His signature was a defiance of his wife and of his fate.