Not without surprise, Drelincourt saw that the address was in his wife's writing. He opened the envelope, extracted the contents, and read as follows: Dear Felix: Do not be more surprised than you can help when I tell you that I am writing this at the Dun Cow Inn, Overthwaite. The explanation is very simple. I was standing on the terrace when Sir John Musgrave and Mr. Ormsby drove up, but they seemed too much preoccupied to see me. After they had entered the house, I descended the steps and turned into the drive, which I find pleasantly shady these hot afternoons. Presently I saw a dog cart coming along at a rapid pace, the driver of which pulled up on reaching me, and asked whether I was Mrs. Drelincourt. When satisfied on the point, he told me that he had been sent by his master, the landlord of the Dun Cow, to inform us that Mr. Walter Deane had been thrown by his horse, and was lying with a broken ankle at the inn in question. I must tell you that a little while before you reached home this afternoon Wally set off on the bay mare, in the hope of meeting you on your road back, and imparting to you the news about Roden Marsh, so that, if you chose to do so, you could ride direct into Sunbridge before coming to Fairlawn. How you and he missed each other I cannot imagine. Well, when the man had told me his news, I did not wait to go back to the house in order to break it to you--I had no doubt you were engaged with your visitors--or to Marian, but climbed into the dog cart beside him, and was driven here its rapidly as possible. As you know, Overthwaite is not quite three miles from Fairlawn. I found poor Walter already in the doctor's hands. The fracture is a bad one, and, as a matter of course, he will be laid up for some weeks to come. He will remain overnight where he is, and I shall stay with him; but I hope, with the doctor's sanction, to have him transferred to Fairlawn in the course of tomorrow. Perhaps you can make it convenient to ride over after breakfast and ascertain how we are getting on. I leave you to tell Marian as much or as little as you may think best. Your loving wife, Madeline. Wicks was still waiting. Drelincourt, after considering for a few moments, said to him: "Tell the messenger there is no answer." "It is well--it is better so," he continued half aloud, when the man had gone. "We are spared a parting, and I a confession, which would have racked the hearts of both. This will tell her all after I am gone that is needful for her to know." As he spoke, he took a sealed packet from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. It was addressed to his wife. "She, at least, will not condemn me," he resumed. "She sees with the large eyes of love and charity. She will read and understand. My image will not be deposed in her heart. My memory will be cherished by her while she has breath to speak my name." He took a slow turn or two from end to end of the room. Then he spoke again.