"Here! _I_ have something to tell you," cried this man, struggling forward. "Do you call this keeping your word, young lady? What do you mean by keeping my papers, and then running away?" "Mr. Saville," I said, hastily appealing to the Rector, "I have nothing to say to him yet. The papers are not his, but Miss Saville's. When I have anything to say to him I will come to the Rectory. Just now I am very anxious to get home. Oh, I beg of you, bid them drive home!" "Don't do anything of the sort, William," said Saville. "Stop, you fellow! So your precious husband's run away; I thought as much. Stop, do you hear! I've something to say to the lady. Why, Mrs. Southcote, have you forgotten the appointment you made with me to-day?" "Is he mad?" cried I--for he had jumped upon the step, and stood peering in at me through the open window. I was not frightened now, but I was very angry. I shrank back to the other side of the carriage, disgusted by his near vicinity, and called to Joseph. "No, ma'am, he's not mad, he's only drunk," said Joseph. While they struggled together, the coachman drove on again, and Saville was thrown to the ground. The poor Rector! he stood by, looking on with dismay and fright and horror--thinking of the disgrace, and of his "position," and of what people would say; but the only way to save him as well as myself, was to hasten on. And there was Cottiswoode at last--the open door, the ruddy light; but Edgar was not standing by to help me--my husband had not come home! I had begun to hope that he had--I stepped into the hall with the heaviest disappointment; I could have thrown myself down on the floor before the servants in an agony of self-humiliation. It was all my own doing, he had gone away. Just then, Mrs. Templeton made her appearance in considerable state, holding a letter. No doubt she, as well as myself, concluded what it was--a leave-taking--a final explanation--such a wretched letter as I had once left for him. "This came immediately you were gone, ma'am," said Mrs. Templeton, who looked as if she had been crying. "It ought to have come last night; but I gave the fellow such a talking to as he won't forget yet awhile. Please to remember, ma'am, it wasn't master's fault." I took no notice of this--my whole mind was on the letter. I hastened in with it, without a word, and closed upon myself the door of the library. With trembling hands I tore it open--after that I think I must have fallen down on my knees in the extreme thankfulness which, finding no words, tried to say by attitude and outward expression what it could not say with the lips--for this was all that Edgar said:-- "MY DEAR HESTER,--I have met with an old friend unexpectedly, and have engaged to go with him to look after some business of importance. I am grieved to be absent without letting you know, and I have no time now to explain. I shall endeavor to be home to-morrow night. Affectionately, "HARRY E. SOUTHCOTE."