'She has a pretty conceit in names. Make sure those are her letters,' and again he spoke with an effort. 'Not I. I have had my fill of the lady's handwriting.' Montague was already holding the paper to the flame, when Kelly's good angel got the upper hand with him. He is happy now to think that no chance accident, such as the return of Hutchins or the coming of the soldiers, hurried him into the better choice with a mind half made up. Here was the very occasion of which he had dreamed when he stayed behind in Lady Oxford's withdrawing room. He could use the weapon which her letters put into his hand to save the Chevalier's papers and himself and Rose. But he put the weapon aside. He turned about from the door: Montague was holding the paper to the flame, and a corner of it had taken fire. Kelly sprang to the scrutoire, snatched the paper out of Montague's hand, and crushed the fire out in the palm of his hand. 'I gave you the right key, 'he whispered. 'You chose the wrong box.' Montague snatched up the pile of papers and turned them over. 'Good God! Cyphers!' he exclaimed, and dropped them as though they were, in truth, burning. 'The other box; the other box,' said Kelly, pointing to it. He fancied that he heard Hutchins moving cautiously just outside the door, and was now in a fever lest the delay brought about by his incertitude might balk his intentions. At any moment the Messenger might come back from Bury Street, or the file of the musquets march tramping up the stairs. All this indeed takes a long time to tell, and seemed no less long to Mr. Kelly in the happening; but the whole of the occurrences, the movements of the Messengers, the tidings cried to him from the street, the burning of the papers, with Kelly's own thoughts and doubts and unlooked-for temptations, passed with momentary speed. Montague found Wogan's strong box, the box of the love-letters, unlocked it, tore out all the contents, and glanced at a few at the top, middle and bottom. 'Smilinda--Smilinda--Smilinda,' he said, reading the signatures. 'And it's for this woman,' he cried, striking the letters with his fist, 'Smilinda, Phylissa, and the Lord knows what else to the Lord knows what other men, that----' But the Parson was in no mood to listen to Montague's reflections.