“Yes, I am certain, of course, that you intended no harm to any one, and that what you did was in ignorance of the law; but so suspicious was I of your having transgressed it--and at the same time, perhaps, a little annoyed that you should have chosen _me_, Lady Lisgard, for your instrument in such a matter--that I purposely omitted to communicate with you, to put in writing any evidence whatsoever of that transaction.” “Yes, yes,” said my Lady hastily, and taking no notice of the young man's evident annoyance. “But you speak of _letters_. There was only _one_ letter directed to Pump Court.” “There were two, Lady Lisgard, and both addressed in the same handwriting. The words, _Turf Hotel, Piccadilly_, were crossed out also, in each case, I remember, in red ink. It was the postmistress who did it, I have no doubt. If you led her to imagine that that was the wrong address in the one instance, she naturally imagined it to be so in the other, and probably made the alteration in all good faith.” “Great Heaven, and so it must have been!” exclaimed my Lady, clasping her hands. “O Arthur, this mischance--if my misconduct does indeed deserve punishment, has brought, I fear, a very harsh and bitter one--that is on Mary. The second letter should have reached the person to whom it was addressed without fail. He will now have heard nothing--this Derrick; and he will take the woman's silence for consent. O Arthur, Arthur, you little know what bad news this is.” “I can see, _ma mère_, that it vexes you,” answered the young man kindly; “and that is evil enough for me to know. Some sorrows are best kept to one's self, I think. Now, look you, this Mr Derrick will certainly, being a sporting-man, be in town to-morrow night. He will not have left his hotel before the Derby is over. Now, I will go and seek him out to-morrow with the letter in my hand that Mary shall re-write. We have only but a very little time, remember.” “Dear Arthur, counsellor, and friend, and son in one, what comfort do you not give me in all straits!” She rose and offered him her pale but comely cheek, which the young man touched with reverent lips; then holding her hand in his, he said in a firm voice: “And now, _ma mère_, even that is not fee enough for such an avaricious lawyer as I am. I have promised myself a talk with Letty.” “Do so, and Heaven bless you, my dear boy--ay, bless you both,” continued my Lady, when he had left the room, “for you would take her for your wife even though you knew what I know of her unhappy birth. I have almost a mind to tell him; but then, with his stern notions of what is right--although, Heaven knows, I wrong no one by this reticence--he might---- 'Some sorrows are best kept to one's self, I think,' said he. And whether he suspects something amiss, and meant the words for my particular ear or not, it is sound advice. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. If I were always to be thinking of the morrow, I should soon go mad.”