“She is a very dangerous woman in one sense. She has a certain position in the world, from which she could and would open a fire of slander on any one. She desires to injure me. She has already threatened, and she is capable of more than threatening. She says she will see Sir William. This she may not be able to do; but she can write to him. You know better than I do what might ensue from two such tempers meeting; for myself I cannot think of it. “I have written you a long letter, dear Lucy, when I only meant to have written five or six lines. I have not courage to read it over; were I to do so, I am sure I would never send it. Perhaps you will not thank me for my candor. Perhaps you will laugh at all my scrupulous honesty. Perhaps you will--no, that you never will--I mean, employ my trustfulness against myself. “Who knows if I have not given to this incident an importance which you will only smile at? There are people so rich that they never are aware if they be robbed. Are you one of these, Lucy? and, if so, will you forgive the thief who signs herself your ever-loving sister, “Lucy Skwell. “I have told Dr. Beattie I would write to you; he looked as if he knew that I might, or that I ought,--which is it? Doctors see a great deal more than they ought to see. The great security against them is, that they acquire an indifference to the sight of suffering, which, in rendering them callous, destroys curiosity, and then all ills that can neither be bled nor blistered they treat as trifles, and end by ignoring altogether. Were it otherwise,--that is, had they any touch of humanity in their nature,--they would be charming confidants, for they know everything and can go everywhere. If Beattie should be one of your pets, I ask pardon for this impertinence; but don't forget it altogether, as, one day or other, you will be certain to acknowledge its truth. “We arrive by the 4.40 train on Saturday afternoon. If I see you at the door when we drive up, I shall take it as a sign I am forgiven.” Beattie folded the letter slowly, and handed it to Lucy without a word. “Tell me,” said he, after they had walked on several seconds in silence,--“tell me, do you mean to-be at the door as she arrives?” “I think not,” said she, in a very low voice. “She has a humble estimate of doctors; but there is one touch of nature she must not deny them,--they are very sensitive about contagion. Now, Lucy, I wish with all my heart that you were not to be the intimate associate of this woman.” “So do I, doctor; but how is it to be helped?” He walked along silent and in deep thought. “Shall I tell you, doctor, how it can be managed, but only by your help and assistance? I must leave this.” “Leave the Priory! but for where?”