Sir Robert Croyland started up in a state of fury not at all becoming. He stamped, he even swore. But we have got rid of a great many of the vices of those times; and swearing was so common at the period I speak of, that it did not even startle Mrs. Barbara. Her efforts, however, to soothe her brother, only served to irritate him the more; and next he swore at her, which did surprise her mightily. He then fell into a fit of thought, which ended in his saying aloud, "Yes, that must be the way. It is his business, and so----" But Sir Robert did not conclude the sentence, retiring to his own sitting-room, and there writing a letter. When he had done, he paused and meditated, his mind rambling over many subjects, though still occupied intensely with only one. "I am a most unfortunate man," he thought. "Nothing since that wretched day has ever gone right with me. Even trifles combine to frustrate everything I attempt. Would I had died many years ago! Poor Edith--poor girl--she must know more sorrow still, and yet it must be done, or I am lost!--If that wretched youth had been killed in that affray yesterday, it would have all been over. Was there no bullet that could find him?--and yet, perhaps, it might not have had the effect.--No, no; there would have been some new kind of demand from that greedy, craving scoundrel.--May there not be such even now? Will he give up that fatal paper?--He shall--by Heaven, he shall!--But I must send the letter. Sir Edward Digby will think this all very strange. How unfortunate, that it should have happened just when he was here. Would to Heaven I had any one to consult with! But I am lone, lone indeed. My wife, my sons, my friends,--gone, gone, all gone! It is very sad;" and after having mused for several minutes more, he rang the bell, gave the servant who appeared the letter which he had just written, and directed him to take it over to Mr. Radford's as soon as possible. Returning to the room which he had previously left--without bestowing one word upon Mrs. Barbara, whom he passed in the corridor, Sir Robert Croyland entered into conversation with Sir Edward Digby, and strove--though with too evident an effort--to appear careless and unconcerned. In the meantime, however, we must notice what was passing in the corridor; for it was of some importance, though, like many other important things, it was transacted very quietly. Mrs. Barbara had overheard Sir Robert's directions to the servant; and she had seen the man--as he went away to get ready the pony, which was usually sent in the morning to the post--deposit the note he had received upon an antique piece of furniture--a large marble table, with great sprawling gilt legs--which stood in the hall, close to the double doors that led to the offices.