"I am sure, ma'am" he replied, as if she had asked him the question, "I think what I said is best, if you will tell me where I can find Mr. Villiers. I should think nothing of going, and he could send word by me what he wished you to do." "Yes, that would indeed be a comfort. I will write three lines, and you shall take them." In a moment she had written. "Give this note into his own hand, he will sleep there--I have written the direction of the house--or at some inn, at Egham. Do not rest till you have given the letter, and here is for your trouble." She held out two sovereigns. "Depend on me, ma'am; and I will bring an answer to you by nine in the morning. Mr. Villiers will pay me what he thinks fit--you may want your money. Only, ma'am, don't be frightened when them men come to-morrow--if the people here are good sort of folks, you had better give them a hint--it may save you trouble." "Thank you: you are a good man, and I will remember you, and reward you. By nine to-morrow--you will be punctual?" The man again assured her that he would use all diligence, and took his leave. Ethel felt totally overwhelmed by these tidings. The unknown is always terrible, and the ideas of arrest, and prison, and bolts, and bars, and straw, floated before her imagination. Was Villiers safe even where he was? Would not the men make inquiries, learn where he had gone, and follow him, even if it were to the end of the world? She had heard of the activity employed to arrest criminals, and mingled every kind of story in her head, till she grew desperate from terror. Not knowing what else to do, she became eager for Mrs. Derham's advice, and hurried down stairs to ask it. She had not seen much of the good lady since her first arrival. Every day, when Villiers went out, she came up, indeed, on the momentous question of "orders for dinner;" and then she bestowed the benefit of some five or ten minutes garrulity on her fair lodger. Ethel learnt that she had seen better days, and that were justice done her, she ought to be riding in her coach, instead of letting lodgings. She learnt that she had a married daughter living at Kennington: poor enough, but struggling on cheerfully with her mother's help. The best girl in the world she was, and a jewel of a wife, and had two of the most beautiful children that ever were beheld. This was all that Ethel knew, except that once Mrs. Derham had brought her one of her grandchildren to be seen and admired. In all that the good woman said, there was so much kindness, such a cheerful endurance of the ills of life, and she had shown such a readiness to oblige, that the idea of applying to her for advice, relieved Ethel's mind of much of its load of anxiety.