"It must have been my old blind black dog," interrupted Charlotte. "He has a habit of creeping about the trees at night. There! I am sure that's near enough. I don't believe it was anything or any one." "Your double, I was going to say," persisted George. "I never saw your face if I did not think I saw it then. It proves how mistaken we may be. Where's Verrall? A pretty trick he played me this evening." "What trick?" repeated Charlotte. "Verrall's gone to London." "Gone to London!" shouted George, his tone one of painful dismay. "It cannot be." "It _is_," said Charlotte. "When I came in from our ride I found Verrall going off by train. He had received a telegraphic message, which took him away." "Why did he not call upon me? He knew--he knew--the necessity there was for me to see him. He ought to have come to me." "I suppose he was in a hurry to catch the train," said Charlotte. "Why did he not send?" "He did send. I heard him send a verbal message by one of the servants, to the effect that he was summoned unexpectedly to London, and could not, therefore, attend your dinner. How early you have broken up!" "We have not broken up. I left my guests to see after Verrall. No message was brought to me." "Then I will inquire," began Charlotte, rising. George gently pushed her back. "It is of little consequence," he said. "It might have saved me some suspense; but I am glad I got dinner over without knowing it. I _must_ see Verrall." Charlotte carried her point, and rang the bell. "If you are glad, George, it is no extenuation for the negligence of the servants. They may be forgetting some message of more importance, if they are left unreproved now." But forgotten the message had not been. The servant, it appeared, had misunderstood his master, and carried the message to Ashlydyat, instead of to the Bank. "How very stupid he must have been!" remarked Charlotte to George, when the explanation was given. "I think some people have only half their share of brains." "Charlotte, I must see Verrall. I received a letter this evening from London which I ought to have had yesterday, and it has driven me to my wits' end." "About the old business?" questioned Charlotte. "Just so. Look here." He took the letter from his pocket: the letter brought back to him by Isaac Hastings, and which he had assured Maria had not contained bad news: opened it, and handed it to Charlotte for her perusal. Better, possibly, for Mr. George Godolphin that he had made a bosom friend of his wife than of Charlotte Pain! Better for gentlemen in general, it may be, that they should tell their secrets to their wives than to their wives' would-be rivals--however comprehensive the fascinations of these latter ladies may be. George, however, had made his own bed, as we all do; and George would have to lie upon it. "What am I to do, Charlotte?" Charlotte sat bending over the note, and pressing her forehead. Her look was one of perplexity; perplexity great as George's.