"Here, Mary," he said, as he returned; "some one wants us to lay in a stock of coals, and--" He stopped short, and uttered quite a gasp. "Hartley! Is anything wrong?" He hesitated a moment, and then handed the letter to his sister. It was very short--only a few lines: "To Rev H. Salis, "I think you ought a know bout yure sister and her goins hon, ask her ware she is goin hout tow nite at 12 'clock wen ure abed. "A Nonnymus." Mary's countenance looked drawn and old as she let the note fall in her lap. "For Heaven's sake don't look like that, Mary," cried Salis angrily. "I beg your pardon, dear. How absurd! An anonymous letter from some village busybody. It is not worth a second thought. There!" He held the note to the candle, and retained it as long as he could before tossing the fragment left burning into the grate. "That's how the writer ought to be served," he cried. "Now, bed." He carried Mary to her chamber, silencing her when she was about to speak; and then, after an affectionate "good night," he sought his own room. "It would be cowardly--cruel," he said, "to take notice of such a letter as that. I can't do it." He threw himself into a chair, and sat till his candle went out, thinking deeply about his sister and her unfortunate connection with Candlish. "No," he said, rising slowly; "I cannot act upon that note. It would be too paltry." He stopped short, for just then the church clock rang out clearly the first stroke of midnight. It was the hour named in the letter, and the thought came to him with a flash. "No," he cried fiercely; "I cannot do that;" but in spite of his words the spirit within warned him that he occupied the position of parent to his sister, and, quickly throwing open his door, he walked across to Leo's room and tapped sharply, and waited for a reply. Volume 3, Chapter IV. THE OPEN WINDOW. As a rule, repeated knockings at a bedroom door when there is no response create alarm; thoughts of accident, illness, murder, teeming to the brain of the one who summons, and the alarm soon spreads through the house. But in this case Hartley Salis took steps to prevent the alarm spreading, as he thought, in happy ignorance of the fact that Dally was down on her knees breathing hard with her ear to the keyhole. He tapped softly, and uttered Leo's name again and again before trying the door and satisfying himself that it was locked on the inside. He uttered a low, hissing sound as he stood there thinking, his brow knit, and an angry glare in his eye. He felt no dread of an accident or of illness, for the note he had received was a warning of what he might expect. He only wanted one proof of its truth. He went back to where Mary was waiting, full of anxiety. "I know nothing yet," he said abruptly. "Wait!" With his countenance growing more stern-looking and old, Salis went downstairs and into the drawing-room, which was the easiest way out on to the little lawn at the back.