The small dinner-party at Heron Dyke, of which Miss Winter spoke to her housekeeper, was held without much delay. Philip, getting strong then, was able to attend it with his mother and Maria. Lady Maria Skeffington, who had been taking a good deal of notice of Maria since her marriage; the Vicar, and Dr. Spreckley completed the party. Dinner was over, and they were all back in the large drawing-room when the evening post was brought in. It was some hours late; the postman said there had been a break-down on the line. Three or four newspapers came in, and one letter, which was addressed to Miss Winter. It bore the American post-mark; and Ella's curiosity arose, not so much because she knew no one in America, as that she thought the handwriting was Margaret Ducie's. "Oh, I must open it," she exclaimed, taking it into the next room. The intervening doors were open, and they watched her read the letter. She came back with it in her hand, looking a little pale. "It is from Mrs. Ducie," she said in a low tone to her guests: "it is dated from Rhode Island, America. I think you ought to hear it. Perhaps"--turning to Mr. Conroy--"you will read it aloud." Conroy took the letter from her hand, glanced over it, and began: "'Mrs. Ducie, late of The Lilacs near Nullington, takes the liberty of addressing a few lines to Miss Winter of Heron Dyke. She does it with great reluctance, as Miss Winter will readily understand; but the charge is laid upon her, and she cannot evade it: the time being now come when certain facts connected with the past must be made known. "'Mrs. Ducie's brother, known to Miss Winter and to others as Captain Lennox, died two days ago. Enclosed is a declaration which he dictated, word for word, before his death; with a request that it might be forwarded to the proper quarter immediately after that event should have taken place. "'Mrs. Ducie can make no attempt to palliate anything that happened in the past. As it was, so it must remain. If all were known, which it never can be here on earth, it would sometimes be found that the greatest sinners were first driven into sin by no wish or will of their own. Many, who were destined to fill an honourable career, have been forced by circumstances which they could not control on a contrary path. The dead are sacred; and she, who is obliged to write these painful lines, can never forget that she has lost a brother, who, whatever his faults might be, was dearer to her heart than anyone now left to her.'" Such was Mrs. Ducie's note. The enclosed paper was also in her handwriting. Mr. Conroy went on to read it.