To-morrow! He rose, with a face set like iron, and went back to his table to finish a half-written review. * * * * * "Theresa--after eleven--I shall be engaged. See that I am not disturbed." Theresa murmured assent, but when her father closed the door of her sitting-room, she did not go back immediately to her household accounts. Her good, plain face showed a disturbed mind. Her father's growing excitability and irritation, and the bad accounts of Maurice, troubled her sorely. It was only that morning Mr. Barron had become aware that Maurice had lost his employment, and was again adrift in the world. Theresa had known it for a week or two, but had not been allowed to tell. And she tried not to remember how often of late her brother had applied to her for money. Going back to her accounts with a sigh, she missed a necessary receipt and went into the dining-room to look for it. While she was there the front door bell rang and was answered, unheard by her. Thus it fell out that as she came back into the hall she found herself face to face with Richard Meynell. She stood paralyzed with astonishment. He bowed to her gravely and passed on. Something in his look seemed to her to spell calamity. She went back to her room, and sat there dumb and trembling, dreading what she might see or hear. Meanwhile Meynell had been ushered into Barron's study by the old butler, who was no less astonished than his mistress. Barron rose stiffly to meet his visitor. The two men stood opposite each other as the door closed. Barron spoke first. "You will, I trust, let me know, Mr. Meynell, without delay to what I owe this unexpected visit. I was of course quite ready to meet your desire for an interview, but your letter gave me no clue--" "I thought it better not," said Meynell quietly. "May we sit down?" Barron mechanically waved the speaker to a chair, and sat down himself. Meynell seemed to pause a moment, his eyes on the ground. Then suddenly he raised them. "Mr. Barron, what I have come to say will be a shock to you. I have discovered the author of the anonymous letters which have now for nearly three months been defiling this parish and diocese." Barron's sudden movement showed the effect of the words. But he held himself well in hand. "I congratulate you," he said coldly. "It is what we have all been trying to discover." "But the discovery will be painful to you. For the author of these letters, Mr. Barron--is--your son Maurice." At these words, spoken with an indescribable intensity and firmness, Barron sprang from, his seat. "It was not necessary, I think, sir, to come to my house in order to insult my family and myself! It would have been better to write. And you may be very sure that if you cannot punish your slanderers we can--and will!" His attitude expressed a quivering fury. Meynell took a packet from his breast-pocket and quietly laid it on the table beside him.