The fervour and energy of her words, however reprehensible in a moral point of view, were such as left no doubt in the mind of Mr. Long that the gipsy woman spoke truth. Assuring her, therefore, that, so far as he was concerned, she should not be molested in the custody of her unfortunate sister, my tutor rode back to Fairburn, relieved from the dread burden of his late suspicion, but more at his wit's end for an elucidation of the disappearance of Sir Massingberd than ever. Right glad was I to hear that his errand among my dusky friends had been bootless; but by the next morning's post I had received bitter news from Harley Street. A copy of that menacing epistle which I had so unwittingly enclosed to Marmaduke from his uncle, reached me from Mr. Gerard. His words were kind, and intended to be comforting. He knew, of course, that I had been deceived; he well knew, and they all knew, he said, that my hand was the last to do Marmaduke hurt, to do aught but protect and uphold him. But I could see that some grievous harm had occurred, nevertheless, through me, as Sir Massingberd's catspaw. It was more apparent to me because there was not one accompanying word from my dear friend himself, whom I knew too well to imagine capable of blaming me. It was most apparent of all because of the postscript written in Lucy's own hand--so fair, so clear, so brave, so like her own sweet self, saying that I must not reproach myself because I had been overreached by a base man. "Marmaduke will write soon," she said; "he does not love you less because he is silent upon this matter, and must be kept so for a little while." He was ill, then, thanks to my dull wits; and out of pity she had written "Marmaduke." Ah me, would _I_ not have been ill! Would _I_ not have welcomed kinship with a score of wicked uncles for such pity! "He does not love you less because he is silent;" was that a quotation culled from her own heart's whisperings? "A most unfortunate business," said Mr. Long reflectively, when he had possessed himself of this intelligence. "That letter of Sir Massingberd's will undo all the good of the last twelve months. With what a devilish ingenuity for torment has he framed every phrase. '_'My arm will reach you wheresoever you are; at the time you least expect it, and from the quarter to which you have least looked. However Well it may seem to be with you, it will not be Well.'_ How thoroughly he knew his nephew! This will make Marmaduke Heath a wretched man for life." "Not if Sir Massingberd be dead," said I, "and can be proved to be so." "That is true," responded my tutor, drily; then added, without, I think, intending me to hear it, "But what will be worse than anything, is this doubt as to whether he be dead or not."