It was late in the evening when she awoke, and she again eagerly inquired for letters. There were none, and Annie's surprise grew into uneasiness. She resolved to write to Ludlow again, to tell him that she had something of importance to communicate, without indicating its character. "He may tell Margaret, or not, as he pleases," she thought "that is for him to decide. I daresay, if she sees my note, she will not feel any curiosity or interest about it. Poor Geoffrey!" And then the girl recalled all that Arthur had said of his suspicion and distrust of Ludlow's beautiful wife, and thought sorrowfully how large was his share in the loss they had sustained of such a friend. Something must be wrong, she thought, or Geoffrey would surely have written. In her sore grief she yearned for the true and ready sympathy which she should have from him, and him alone. Stay; she would not only write, she would send her maid to inquire for Geoffrey, and Margaret, and the child. She could go early next morning in a cab, and be back before breakfast-hour. So Annie made this arrangement, wrote her note, got through a short hour or two in the great dreary drawing-room as best she could, and once more cried herself to the merciful sleep which in some degree strengthened her for the intelligence which awaited her in the morning. She was aroused by her maid, who came hurriedly to her bedside, holding in her hand Annie's note to Ludlow. She started up, confused, yet sufficiently awake to be startled at the look in the girl's face. "What is it?" she said faintly. "O Miss Annie, dreadful, dreadful news Mrs. Ludlow has gone away, nobody knows where, and Mr. Ludlow is raving mad, in brain-fever!" Lord Caterham's letter lay for many days undisturbed in the receptacle in which Annie Maurice had placed it. Not yet was the confidence of the dead to be imparted to the living. He was to read that letter in time, and to learn from it much that the writer had never dreamed it could convey. Little had the two, who had lived in so near and pleasant an intimacy, dreamed of the fatal link which really, though unseen, connected them. This was the letter which, in due time, Annie Maurice deposited in Geoffrey's hands: