"Victor Carrington," cried Reginald, passionately, "you are the fiend himself, in disguise! Let me pass. I will not stop to listen to your hateful words." "Wait to hear one question, at any rate. Why do you suppose I made you sign that promissory note at a twelvemonth's date?" "I don't know; but you must know, as well as I do, that the note will be waste-paper so long as my uncle lives." "I do know that, my dear Reginald; but I got you to date the document as you did, because I have a kind of presentiment that before that date you will be master of Raynham!" "You mean that my uncle will die within the year?" "I am subject to presentiments of that kind. I do not think Sir Oswald will see the end of the year!" "Carrington!" exclaimed Reginald. "Your schemes are hateful. I will have no further dealings with you." "Indeed! Then am I to go to Sir Oswald, and tell him the story of last night? Am I to tell him that his wife is innocent?" "No, no; tell him nothing. Let things stand as they are. The promise of the estate is mine. I have suffered too much from the loss of my position, and I cannot forego my new hopes. But let there be no more guilt--no more plotting. We have succeeded. Let us wait patiently for the end." "Yes," answered the surgeon, coolly, "we will wait for the end; and if the end should come sooner than our most sanguine hopes have led us to expect, we will not quarrel with the handiwork of fate. Now leave me. I see a petticoat yonder amongst the trees. It belongs to some housemaid from the castle, I dare say; and I must see if my eloquence as a wandering merchant cannot win me admission within the walls which I dare not approach as Victor Carrington." Reginald opened the gate with his pass-key, and allowed the surgeon to go through into the gardens. * * * * * It was dusk when Sir Oswald left the library. He had sent a message to the chief of his guests, excusing himself from attending the dinner-table, on the ground of ill-health. When he knew that all his visitors would be assembled in the dining-room, he left the library, for the first time since he had entered it after breakfast. He had brooded long and gloomily over his misery, and had come to a determination as to the line of conduct which he should pursue towards his wife. He went now to Lady Eversleigh's apartments, in order to inform her of his decision; but, to his surprise, he found the rooms empty. His wife's maid was sitting at needlework by one of the windows of the dressing-room. "Where is your mistress?" asked Sir Oswald. "She has gone out, sir. She has left the castle for some little time, I think, sir; for she put on the plainest of her travelling dresses, and she took a small travelling-bag with her. There is a note, sir, on the mantel-piece in the next room. Shall I fetch it?" "No; I will get it myself. At what time did Lady Eversleigh leave the castle?" "About two hours ago, sir."