I am not tired, but that may be because of my excitement and exaltation. I intend to be careful and prudent. When the housework is done, I shall take some rest. I might have a little now, but that I can turn my thoughts to nothing until I write to you what is in my mind. My faith is not shaken; I repeat it; and I add, let not your faith be shaken. Whatever occurs, do not for a moment doubt me, do not for a moment lose faith in me. You say that I must have been guided by a higher than a human impulse when I took the strange step of transforming myself into a servant-of-all-work, and seeking service with Mrs. Preedy, in the house next to that in which your dear father was murdered. Do you remember my telling you in my first letter that an inspiration had fallen upon me when I conceived the idea? And if at that time, before it was known who it was who had been so mysteriously murdered, I believed my idea to be an inspiration, how much more reason have I to believe it now that the awful crime is brought so close to us and is woven into your life? You declare that you will bring your father's murderer to justice, and you ask me to help you. What answer can I make you? This. That all that a woman's power, all that a woman's devotion, all that a woman's self-sacrifice, can do to the end to which you have pledged yourself, shall be done by me. I can do much, more than you can imagine possible, if certain thoughts, created by what you have written, touch even the border-land of truth. They do, I believe, and they will lead me to the fulfilment of what we both with all our hearts desire. But you must be guided by me. For once in the way, let a woman take the command, and let her prove herself capable. Not that you could not accomplish what is necessary for our happiness, and in the cause of truth and justice, a great deal better than I. But your hands are not free; you cannot move without the risk of being watched, and persecuted, and hampered--while I am free to act, without the slightest chance of being suspected. I am comparatively unknown, and can work without fear; besides, I am a woman, and can do what you would scorn to do. No man can be a match for such a creature as Lydia Holdfast--let us call her by that name. It must be a case of Greek meeting Greek, and in me this woman will find more than her match. So for the present do not move openly; do not run the risk of being discovered. Do nothing that will put our enemies on their guard; above all, do not write to the newspaper which published Lydia Holdfast's infamous story; a friend has already stepped forward in vindication of your character, and that should be a comfort to you, as it is to me. You are right in saying that it will be best it should be believed that you are dead; therefore, do nothing rashly, but leave all to me.