"My boy, you best know what grounds there may be for this half-breathed accusation; whether any or none. I have scarcely had a minute's peace since it reached me, now three weeks ago: in fact, it has, I believe, brought on the crisis with me somewhat before it would otherwise have come. At one moment I say to myself, It is a malicious invention, an infamous lie; I know my boy Frank too well to believe this, or anything else against him: the next moment I shudder at the tale and at the possibility of what may have been enacted. Perhaps through passion--or accident--or--I grow confused: I know not what I would say. "Oh, my boy, my nephew, my dear brother Henry's only child! my heart is aching with dismay and doubt. I do believe you are innocent of all intention to do harm; but--My sight is growing dim. _Take care of yourself_. Hide yourself if need be (and you best know whether there be need, or not) from Blase Pellet. It is he who would be your enemy. I see it; and Andrew Float sees it; though we know not why or wherefore. In any obscure nook of this wide world, shelter yourself from him. Don't let him know where you are. If he does indeed hold power in his hand, it may be your only chance of safety: _he said it was so_. I can write no more. God bless and help you! Farewell. "Your loving and anxious "UNCLE HUGH." Frank Raynor may have drawn many a deep breath in his life, but never so deep a one as he drew now. Mechanically he folded the letter and placed it in an inner pocket. "Are you there, sir?" The question came from outside the door, in the voice of one of the servants. Frank unbolted it. "Lunch is on the table, sir." "Is it?" returned Frank, half bewildered. "I don't want any to-day, James. Just say so. I am going out for a stroll." The letters from Cornwall were never delivered at Eagles' Nest until the midday post. Frank took his hat, and went out; bending his steps whithersoever they chose to take him, so that he might be alone. Strolling on mechanically, in deep thought, he plunged into a dark coppice, and asked himself what he was to do. The letter had disturbed him in no ordinary degree. It had taken all his spirit, all his elasticity out of him: and that was saying a great deal for Frank Raynor. "I wish I could hang Blase Pellet!" he broke forth in his torment and perplexity. "He deserves it richly. To disturb my poor uncle with his malicious tongue! Villain!" But Frank was unconsciously unjust. It was not Blase Pellet who had disturbed Dr. Raynor. At least, he had not done it intentionally. To do Blase justice, he was vexed that the doctor should have heard it, for he held him in great respect and would not willingly have grieved him. In an evil moment, when Blase had taken rather more than was quite necessary--an almost unprecedented occurrence with him--he had dropped the dangerous words to Andrew Float.