On one fine Sunday morning, a few days after her arrival at the sea-side, she received a letter from him, which considerably allayed her fears for the time. She felt almost cheerful after reading it, and ate her breakfast with some semblance of appetite, to the delight of her landlady, a sympathetic soul, who pitied and took great interest in her sick lodger. For in the letter occurred the following passage: "That poor Mr. Hudson died this morning. His constitution seemed unable to rally after his last attack. He never spoke a single word since you saw him last. He became totally paralysed. His case, indeed, was a very unusual one in some respects." "Ah, then, she was safe," she said to herself. "He was dead--had died without revealing anything--there could not be produced a tittle of evidence against her now--he would be buried by this time--even if they dug him up again," she chuckled to herself. "No examination could betray her work. The poison of the Sisterhood was too subtle." Again, even if Mary disclosed what she knew, who would believe her? Her story would be put down as the delusion of a madwoman. Yes! she was safe now. She felt then quite her own self again, and was so full of will joy, that she must needs put on her bonnet and start out for a long walk across the sands--she was too jolly to be still. "Take care now, Missy, take care," said the motherly old landlady in a warning tone as she observed her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. "You have had good news in that letter, but that doesn't make you strong and well all of a sudden, though you feel so just now. Don't go and tire yourself, or you'll be as bad as ever again to-night." "Nonsense!" replied Susan impatiently as she tripped merrily down the stairs. As she walked down the village street, she met all the people going to church, and being a stranger she was naturally thoroughly inspected and criticised. She soon noticed this, and fear having been driven away, up came her old vanity again, and she ogled the men unmercifully. An idea struck her, she too would go to church. It was the proper thing to do in the country--besides, it might afford her an opportunity of captivating some young squire or other local grandee. "What a lark!" she said to herself. "Fancy _my_ going to church." She entered the church, and was placed by an old gentleman, who acted as pew-opener, in an empty pew which was in a very prominent position. Once there, all her pluck and gladness seemed to run out of her finger ends again quite suddenly. Her old landlady was right. The letter had only produced a temporary relief, a reaction all the more quickly fleeting, that it was so intense. The Furies had not left her yet.