“I have received it,” said the gray companion, “and no one is the wiser for it. The messenger thinks it a book, and the people at the lodge did not even see it. We are in the usual luck, Octavia. Everything goes well with us.” “I am glad that Craven did not fail me,” murmured Lady Wynde. “I feared he might find the task too heavy for him. But he is always prompt. Open the packet, Artress.” The companion obeyed, bringing to light the double letter, the one Craven Black had forged being securely lodged within the last letter Sir Harold Wynde had written to his wife from India. Lady Wynde saw that the inner letter, addressed to Neva, was securely sealed, read the forged postscript to the letter addressed to her, and placed both under her pillow, with a complacent smile. “Craven is a clever fellow,” she muttered. “And how much he loves me, Artress. Not many men could have seen the woman they loved marry another, but Craven and I have been worldly wise, and we shall reap the reward of our self-denial. If we had married three years ago, we should have been poor now, mere hangers on upon the outskirts of society, tolerated for the sake of our connections, but nothing more. But we determined to play a daring game, and behold our success. I am again a widow, with four thousand a year and a good house while I live, and I can lay up money if I choose while I continue the chaperon of my husband’s daughter. And if our game continues to prosper, and Neva marries Rufus Black, Craven and I will make ten thousand a year more for the remainder of our lives. Rufus will have to sign an agreement giving us that amount out of Neva’s income. Think of it Artress; fourteen thousand a year!” “Of which if you win it, I am to have five hundred,” said Artress, her gray face flushing. “And if you do not win the ten thousand, I am to have two hundred pounds a year settled upon me for life. Is not that our bargain?” Lady Wynde nodded assent. “And,” continued Artress, “I am to enter society with you, to remain with you as your guest instead of companion. I have been necessary to you in playing this game. I have lived with you some three years now, and though people know that I am a lady born, no one suspects that I am own cousin to Craven Black, and soon to be your cousin by marriage. We have joined our forces and wits together in this game, and we shall enjoy our success together.” This, then, was the secret of the connection between the two women so unlike each other, yet so in unison in their schemes. Mrs. Artress was the cousin of Craven Black, and being poor as well as unscrupulous, she was his most faithful ally in his stupendously wicked schemes. The interests of the three conspirators were indeed identical. “I believe I will rise,” said Lady Wynde. “I am impatient to give this letter to Neva, and to see how she receives it. Do you suppose she is up?”