"Quite a little letter," he said. "Pray read it." This is what I read: "You must have seen for yourself that I was incapable of insulting you and Miss Cristel by an outbreak of jealousy, when I found you together just now. Only remember that we all have our weaknesses, and that it is my hard lot to be in a state of contest with the inherited evil which is the calamity of my life. With your encouragement, I may resist temptation in the future, and keep the better part of me in authority over my thoughts and actions. But, be on your guard, and advise Miss Cristel to be on her guard, against false appearances. As we all know, they lie like truth. Consider me. Pity me. I ask no more." Straightforward and manly and modest--I appeal to any unprejudiced mind whether I should not have committed a mean action, if I had placed an evil construction on this? "Am I understood?" he asked. I signed to him to give me his book, and relieved him of anxiety in these words: "If I had failed to understand you, I should have felt ashamed of myself. May I show what you have written to Cristel?" He smiled, more sweetly and pleasantly than I had seen him smile yet. "If you wish it," he answered. "I leave it entirely to you. Thank you--and good morning." Having advanced a few steps on his way to the cottage, he paused, and reminded me of the tea-drinking: "Don't forget to-morrow evening, at seven o'clock." CHAPTER XI WARNED AGAIN! The breakfast hour had not yet arrived when I got home. I went into the garden to refresh my eyes--a little weary of the solemn uniformity of color in Fordwitch Wood--by looking at the flowers. Reaching the terrace, in the first place, I heard below me a man's voice, speaking in tones of angry authority, and using language which expressed an intention of turning somebody out of the garden. I at once descended the steps which led to the flower-beds. The man in authority proved to be one of my gardeners; and the man threatened with instant expulsion was the oddly-dressed servant of the friend whom I had just left. The poor fellow's ugly face presented a picture of shame and contrition, the moment I showed myself. He piteously entreated me to look over it, and to forgive him. "Wait a little," I said. "Let me see if I have anything to forgive." I turned to the gardener. "What is your complaint of this man?" "He's a trespasser on your grounds, sir. And, his impudence, to say the least of it, is such as I never met with before." "What harm has he done?" "Harm, sir?" "Yes--harm. Has he been picking the flowers?" The gardener looked round him, longing to refer me to the necessary evidence, and failing to discover it anywhere. The wretched trespasser took heart of grace, and said a word in his own defence. "Nobody ever knew me to misbehave myself in a gentleman's garden," he said; "I own, sir, to having taken a peep at the flowers, over the wall." "And they tempted you to look a little closer at them?"