"_Lady Jenkins is being drugged_," emphatically pronounced Dr. Knox. "And you must watch Lettice Lane. If Lettice is innocent, we must look elsewhere." "Shall I tax Lettice with it?" "Certainly not. You would make a good detective," he added, with a laugh; "showing your hand to the enemy. Surely, Madame St. Vincent, you must yourself see that Lady Jenkins is being tampered with. Look at her state this morning: though she is not quite as bad as she is sometimes." "I have known some old people sleep almost constantly." "So have I. But theirs is simply natural sleep, induced by exhausted nature: hers is not natural. She is stupefied." "Stupefied with the natural decay of her powers," dissented madame. "But--to drug her! No, I cannot believe it. And where would be the motive?" "That I know not. But I am sure I am not mistaken," he added decisively. "You will watch Lettice Lane?" "I will," she answered, after a pause. "Of course it _may_ be as you say; I now see it. I will watch her to the very utmost of my ability from this hour." III. "DEAR JOHNNY, "I expect your stay at Lefford is drawing towards a close; mine is, here. It might be pleasant if we travelled home together. I could take Lefford on my way--starting by an early train--and pick you up. You need some one to take care of you, you know. Let me hear when you intend to be ready. I will arrange my departure accordingly. "Hope you have enjoyed yourself, old fellow." "Ever yours, "J. T." The above letter from Tod, who was still in Leicestershire, reached me one morning at breakfast-time. Dr. Knox and Janet, old Tamlyn--all the lot of them--called out that they could not spare me yet. Even Cattledon graciously intimated that she should miss me. Janet wrote to Tod, telling him he was to take Lefford on his way, as he proposed, and to stay a week when he did come. It was, I think, that same day that some news reached us touching Captain Collinson--that he was going to be married. At least that he had made an offer, and was accepted. Not to Mina Knox; but to an old girl (the epithet was Sam's) named Belmont. Miss Belmont lived with her father at a nice place on the London Road, half-a-mile beyond Jenkins House; he had a great deal of money, and she was his only child. She was very plain, very dowdy, and quite forty years of age; but very good, going about amongst the poor with tracts and soup. If the tidings were true, and Captain Collinson _had_ made Miss Belmont an offer, it appeared pretty evident that his object was her money: he could not well have fallen in love with her, or court a wife so much older than himself.