Florence would not have taken a letter off the table and read it; but in the case of this mysterious paper no such scruple occurred to her. She saw that it began, "Dear Edgar"--that it stated that the writer had returned, had satisfactory explanations to give, and asked for a meeting at the old ash-tree on the following day. Two things flashed at once into Florence's mind: one that this was the letter Wyn had lost; the other that the man who had spoken to herself and Miss Geraldine was Mr Alwyn. "Miss Lily, where did you find the letter? When was it you got it?" "I found it down under the ferns," said Lily. "It wasn't yesterday-- mother took us out yesterday. It was Friday." Florence stared at the letter. Wyn's poacher with the red beard--that must have been Harry himself! And, oh! she and Wyn had set the keepers to look out for him. Florence turned quite pale. She had derived vague and awful notions of Mr Cunningham's power from the way in which everything at Ashcroft was referred to his pleasure. She did not know what he would do to a "poacher"--also a vague character to the town-bred girl. "You had better undress Miss Lily," said the nurse, fearing that her new underling was a dawdle. "Read me what the fairies say," said Lily. "Not to-night," said Florence, stuffing the letter in her pocket. "You tell Florrie about the fairies to-morrow." She bustled about and did her work, till, Lily's toilet being complete, she knelt up in her bed in her little nightgown, and said her prayers. She went through the usual baby prayers, which were pretty much all that Florence herself had to say, since she had never felt the need of any others; but when she had finished she still knelt with her two little hands clasped together, and said in a clear, parrot-like little voice: "Please, God, make all wrongs right, and bring travellers safe home, for Jesus' sake." "Miss Lily--who's a traveller?" said Florence, startled. "I don't know; mother told me to say that prayer always," she said as she curled herself up in her little white bed and shut her eyes. Florence stood by the window looking out over the garden into the mass of trees that bounded it, under which the level evening light was pouring. If she could only get that letter back to Wyn! only tell him to stop the keepers from minding her foolish talk! With the letter in her pocket, she really did feel a sense of great responsibility; she really did try to think what it would be right to do. She had never felt so serious in her life. Come what come might, she must get at Wyn. She must run home across the forest. Lose her place for it! Perhaps she would; but, if she had lost one place to amuse herself, she could lose another to prevent such dreadful mischief.