Had the girl’s mind been occupied with this pair alone she would certainly have thought their conduct more suspicious still, but she had other things to interest and trouble her. Since that night when, dressed in diamonds and lace, she had been taken to dine in public, she had written to her guardian three times, and had waited eagerly for the reply, which, she now began to fear, would never come. The only explanation she could give of the affair was that Mr. White, on hearing of her elopement, had gone over to the school to look into the matter, and that the investigation and journey had kept him a long time from home, so that the letters written from time to time by his penitent ward were lying unopened in his studio in St. John’s Wood. Madeline had arrived at this impotent conclusion, and was deriving some sad consolation from it, when her little spell of peace was brought to an end. She was seated in the sitting-room one night, silently working at some embroidery; Belleisle reclining in an easy-chair oy the window, scanning the columns of ‘Le Journal pour Rire,’ when the postman arrived and letters were brought in--two for Belleisle and one for his wife. The Frenchman took his, read them, returned them to their envelopes, threw them carelessly on to a little table at his side, and again concentrated his attention on the more amusing contents of the paper, or rather he tried to do so, for by this time it did not seem so easy for him to concentrate his thoughts at all. His eyes, which had hitherto travelled from line to line, now wandered from column to column--then his hands fell slightly, lowering the paper, and his eyes looked over the top at Madeline. She had not moved from her seat; her work lay in her lap; and her hands, now trembling violently, held the open letter, upon which her eyes were fixed. Belleisle threw the paper aside, and walked towards her. ‘Madeline, what is the matter?’ The girl turned her white face towards him, gave him the letter, then burst into a violent flood of tears. He took the letter, and read as follows:-- _Madame Belleisle,--When you eloped from school with your beggarly French tutor you brought disgrace upon yourself and me. Remain with your husband--be true to him, if you can--as for me, I never wish either to see or hear of you again._ _M. White._ No sooner had Belleisle read the letter than he tore it into fragments and threw them into the grate. ‘The man is a villain and a coward,’ he exclaimed; then, as Madeline rose to protest, he threw his arms around her and kissed her tear-stained cheek.