"H'I'll answer it, hif you'll let me come to the table." "You!" "Yes--and you can copy and sign it. Hit won't be the first private note h'I've hanswered, or the first despatch h'I've written, heither," and with this rebuke he composed the following: "To "His Excellency, "The Honourable, "------ "SIR:-- "I have the honour to acknowledge your Excellency's private despatch of the 20th inst., and to inform you in reply that the person mentioned in it is now a guest in this house, also that I have discovered the present location of the papers desired, and hope soon to be able to place them in your hands. "I am, Sir, "Your obedient servant, "------. "Sunday, 12.45 A. M." The Secretary read and approved, and in a few moments had produced a copy of the same, which was duly signed and sealed. "And now," he said, "you must be off. There's a train to London about six." "Yes, sir. Hit's a very cold night, sir." "No, you've had enough, and you need to keep your wits about you," and he led the way downstairs. "John," he said, as he let the faithful servitor out, "I believe you're right in what you said." "Habout the woman, sir?" "Of course not. I tell you the lady knows nothing whatever of the matter; pray disabuse your mind of that absurd idea, once and for all. I mean about the letter." "Yes, sir." "I've got to get it again, John. Send me the best book you can find on combination locks. I _will_ get it! Impossibilities don't count!" "Yes, sir. Good-night, sir, and remember, hit's the woman!" CHAPTER XX THE WISDOM OF AGE The Secretary passed one of the worst nights of his life. His pride, self-esteem, and youthful estimation of his abilities as a diplomat had received a crushing blow. He told himself that he was not fit to copy letters in an office, much less to undertake delicate negotiations in which the honour of his country was involved. The conspirators had known him for what he was, a conceited young ass, and had egregiously fooled him to the top of his bent. They had regained the document without half trying; even Kingsland, whose intellect he had looked down on, had completely taken him in. It seemed as if he must die of shame when it became known. He would be disgraced and turned out of the service with ridicule. Then of his despair was born that resolution to _do_, which sets all obstacles at naught, and succeeds because it declares the possibility of the impossible. He must retrieve himself, he must regain that letter, and hereafter his self-reproaches were mingled with every scheme leading to its recovery, that his brain could concoct. He was downstairs soon after seven. Entering the great hall, he found Lady Isabelle in sole possession, but equipped to go out. "Whither so early?" he said. "I'm going away--that is--out." "Away?" he queried, as he saw her eyes fill with tears, and noted that she was closely veiled "Can I serve you?"