“My darling Violet,--Your kind friend Mr. Rayner is waiting; so I can pen you only these few lines; and I don’t know how to express my feelings at his generous offer. He says I am to write to you and persuade you to go; but I do not think you will need much persuasion. He has directed me to provide an outfit for you at his expense, and bring it with me to Liverpool Street Station, where I am to meet you on Friday, though I don’t like starting on a journey on a Friday. Heaven be praised for sending us such kind friends! I have no time for more, as Mr. Rayner is waiting. With best love from your uncle and cousins, in the fond hope of seeing you very soon, “Your affectionate mother, Amy Christie.” My dear mother! It was just like her to see nothing so very extraordinary in this offer, to take it as a matter of course, and thank Heaven for it in the most simple-minded way, while it troubled me somewhat still. I read the letter twice through, and then tried deprecatingly to thank him for the outfit he had got her to provide. “Oh, does she mention that? I told her not to do so,” said he, laughing. “You don’t know my mother. When she has anything to tell, she can’t resist telling it. This letter is just like her. But she has done two things she never in all her life did before--dated her letter and put no postscript.” CHAPTER XXV. As soon as we came out of church that morning, I found an opportunity of speaking to Mrs. Manners, and asked her shyly if she could give me any message to take that afternoon to Miss Maud Reade at the Hall. “Laurence told me to ask you,” I whispered timidly; “it is because he particularly wants my next letter to be enclosed in hers. He didn’t say why; but he is very emphatic about it.” “Dear, dear,” said kind Mrs. Manners anxiously, “it is a pity young people cannot get on without so many subterfuges! I don’t know whether Mr. Manners would approve. But there--I promised Laurence I would help you--and there is no harm in it--and so I will. Come up to the Vicarage after afternoon service, and I’ll give you a packet of tracts for her.” I thanked her; but she had already turned to reproach a deaf old woman bent with rheumatism for not coming to church oftener, and to promise to send her some beef-tea jelly next day. I made my way to where Mr. and Mrs. Rayner were standing, the former advising old Mr. Reade to send his plate, which was known to be valuable, to the bank at Beaconsburgh for safety. “Jewel-robberies are epidemic, you know, and I dare say we haven’t seen the last of this series yet,” said he. “There was Lord Dalston’s, and now Sir Jonas’s; but they never stop at two. You remember some years ago, when there were five big robberies within six weeks? I shouldn’t wonder if the same sort of thing occurred again.”