He broke the seal and read: "I heard you talk of leaving Redmoor. If not impossible I pray you to stay. Your presence will be a check upon two people, who, liberated from that, will go headlong to ruin, _dragging down a third in their fall_. For the welfare of this third person both you and I are solicitous. But it seems probable that my sphere of usefulness is ended; so all devolves upon you. Remember this, and for her sake, stay on." "Ah!" said Laurence Alsager when he had perused this mysterious note for the second time--"there's no doubt that my anonymous correspondent is the handsome woman with the eyes and voice. What she means I'll find out in the morning." CHAPTER XIX. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. On the morning after the day when Miss Gillespie had made so successful a debut among the company assembled at Redmoor, Mr. Effingham, lounging quietly up the road from the Mitford Arms, rang at the lodge-gate, and after a few minutes' conversation with the old portress, passed up the avenue. His conversation was purely of a pleasant character; there was no inquiry as to who he was, or what he wanted,--all that had been settled long ago. He was a gentleman from London, who was writing a book 'bout all the old fam'ly houses, and was going to put our place into it. He knew Sir Charles, and had his leave to come and go when he liked. A civil-spoken gentleman he was, and talked most wonderful; never passed the lodge without stopping to say something. Perhaps of all Mr. Effingham's peculiarities, this impressed the old woman the most; for, like all country people of her class who live a solitary and quiet life, she was thoroughly reticent, and it is questionable whether, beyond the ordinary salutations to those with whom she was brought in contact, she uttered more than a dozen sentences in a week. But Mr. Effingham's light airy chatter was very welcome to the old lady, and, combined with the politeness which he always exhibited, had rendered him a great favourite.