“Look here, Mrs Rudd,” interposed Mistress Forest softly, “you are not asked either to destroy or to give up this letter--of the inside of which, if you please, I will tell you every word. It is written to my lover--that's the fact; and I am very, very anxious that he should receive it”--here she trod upon my Lady's foot with unmistakable emphasis--“should receive it by this night's post.” “Well, so he will,” returned the postmistress, “in Piccadilly.” “Yes, but Mr Derrick is _not_ in Piccadilly,” urged the waiting-maid. “The direction should he '_Care of Mr Arthur Haldane_'--what court is it, my Lady?--Yes; _Pump Court, Temple_. If you would only let me write _that_, Mrs Rudd, upon the envelope, instead of the present address, all mischief will be avoided. Would it not, my Lady?” “There seems no great harm in that,” said Mrs Rudd reflectively. “No harm whatever, and a great deal of good to you,” murmured the waiting-maid, as with a rapid hand she crossed out the words already written, and substituted for them the address of Mr Haldane's law-chambers. “Thank you kindly. Now, please to stamp this other. I am so much obliged.” “And I too,” said my Lady graciously. “Be so kind, Mrs Rudd, as to let me take your list of groceries with me. What nice macaroni that looks--I find such a difficulty in getting it in the country pure.” Mrs Rudd herself accompanied my Lady to her chariot, and courtesied to the ground as the chariot whirled away. No sooner were they alone, than mistress and maid exchanged a hearty kiss. “Thank you, thank you, dear Mary,” cried the former; “without your presence of mind, what should we have done! I began to feel quite prostrate with despair, and even now I tremble to think how nearly we had failed. I could not go through such a scene again, I believe, even if my life depended upon it.” “Ah, yes, you could, my Lady; and I only trust it may not be necessary for you to do so. There is nothing more, however, to be done at present, save to wait and hope--except the telegraph message. I ventured to tell John, 'To the Railway Station.'” “Telegraph to whom, and about what, Mary?” “We must let Mr Arthur know what he is to do with that letter, my Lady; otherwise, he may endeavour to forward it to the person to whom it is addressed.” “Very true, dear Mary. I do believe that my wits are leaving me. By all means telegraph 'Burn it.' I wish I could repay you for your prudent thought, as easily as I can recompense Mrs Rudd for her complaisance.” “Do not think of repaying me, my dear,” replied the waiting-maid fondly. “It is a heartfelt pleasure to find that I am not altogether useless in this strait. I am yours--yours--yours--my beloved mistress, and will be though every friend on earth should stand afar off, and you were forsaken by your very kith and kin.” “But God forbid that should ever be the case, Mary!” ejaculated Lady Lisgard solemnly.