"Stop!" cried Richard fiercely. "It was you sent me that wretched anonymous letter once?" "Yes," she said humbly--"to save you from misery--to open your eyes to the truth." "To open my eyes to a lie," he cried. "Miss Clode, enough of this. I promised you that I would look upon this as our secret: let it remain so, and we know each other no more." He moved towards the door, but she clung to his wrist. "That was a mistake," she panted; "but this time I am sure." "I will not listen," he cried. "Loose my wrist, woman." "You shall listen," she cried. "Richard Linnell, the post-horses are ordered, and Claire Denville leaves her home to-night with--" He did not hear the rest, for he had reached the shop, and hurried away, nearly overturning Annie, as she came in to find her aunt in tears. "Oh, auntie, what is the matter?" she cried. "Look here," whispered Miss Clode, "are you sure there was no mistake in what you told me to-day?" "Quite sure, aunt dear. Jane Moggridge told me that there were post-horses ordered for Major Rockley, and for Sir Harry Payne, and for Sir Matthew Bray." "That will do," said Miss Clode quickly. "Now go right away." Annie looked wider-eyed and rounder-faced than ever in her disappointment as she obeyed her aunt, while Miss Clode stood with her hands clasped to her side, gazing straight before her. "Have I done right?" she said to herself; "have I done wrong? It maddens me to see him so deceived--so blind. It was my duty to awaken him from his miserable infatuation, but suppose mischief should come after it?" She turned ghastly pale, and clutched at a chair. "No, no," she cried, as she battled with her fears; "he is too brave and strong, and he will have Mellersh on his side. I have done right, I am sure. It is half breaking his heart, poor fellow; but better the sharp pain now than one that would last for life." Volume Three, Chapter III. MR BARCLAY IS BUSY. Josiah Barclay sat at his writing-table, looking about the most uncompromising specimen of humanity possible, when the door was softly opened, and his man-servant came in. "And nine's seventy-three," muttered Barclay, making an entry. "Hang the woman! I wish she'd come down and go on with these accounts. Well, Joseph?" "Lady Drelincourt, sir." "Humph! Bless her! Let her wait. Seen that monkey again, Joseph?" "Isaac, sir? Denville's Isaac?" "Yes, him. Dropped any more hints?" "Saw him last night, sir, at the Blue Posts." "Well?" "Went on dropping hints again, sir, as soon as he had had a glass or two. 'Fraid he's a fool, sir." "Nothing to be afraid of in a fool, Joseph, so long as you keep him at a distance. So he chatters, eh?"