“I am to-day leaving this house for ever. To me it has been a miserable home. I can no longer endure your neglect and cruelty. I am going to Lancelot Lumley, and you are free to take any steps you please. I shall be thankful to be released from you, and you, I know, will be glad to be rid of me, since you have so often told me that you wished I were dead. Well, in future we shall be dead to one another. I need not ask you to be good to Cara; it breaks my heart to leave her, but it breaks my heart to stay. “LETTY.” “By Gad!” he repeated, “this is great news! Dead to me--I should say so, the little puling fool!” In a condition of supreme satisfaction he went to his writing-table and filled a number of telegraph forms: one of these was a long one to his lawyer, others were addressed to his mother, his sister, and to several of his chief friends. In short, a dozen wires carrying the startling news were promptly despatched from Sharsley Post Office. (The intelligence was received in various fashions. Mrs. Blagdon wept and kept her room: she was growing old and feeble; Lady Rashleigh said, “Hullo! here is a nice business! Letty has bolted with Captain Lumley. I wouldn’t have believed she had it in her!” and Lord Robert who was present, shouted his usual ejaculation, ‘My hat!’) When this task had been accomplished, Mr. Blagdon drained a four-finger whisky and soda, and summoned the housekeeper to his presence. Bates appeared, was much on the _qui vive_, the impression that something had happened was obvious to the whole household. “Bates,” he began, “Mrs. Blagdon has--er--left here, and is never to be admitted to this house again. I shall probably close it before long. You can put away all the linen and china and that sort of thing, and pack off the cook.” “Yes, sir, excuse me, but it’s not a cook we have, but a kitchenmaid. We are terribly short-handed, only old Jenkins for man-servant, a boy for the knives, and one housemaid. The big rooms are all in an awful state of dust, and with them old tapestries and pictures, and moth and damp, I expect there’s a lot of damage already. We had no fires last winter--and----” At this point, the voice of her complaint was interrupted by a succession of piercing screams immediately on the other side of the door. “It’s only Miss Cara,” explained Bates reassuringly; “she is just in from her walk.” Miss Cara’s papa rose from his chair and hastily entered the hall, where he beheld Waggett, struggling with an animated bundle of white embroidery and bare legs, which had cast itself down upon the marble flags, and was rending the air with uncontrolled shrieks, and even squeals of passion. “What’s all this?” he demanded peremptorily. The child ceased her cries, raised her tearless face, and stared at him threateningly. “I want my mummy!” she shouted. “I want my own mummy!” “Your mummy isn’t here--be quiet this moment.”