"Here you are, Blachland," handing him two. "Miss Bayfield, Miss Bayfield," he read out, "that's all for Lyn. _Illustrated London News_--George Bayfield--George Bayfield. Here's another, that's for you--no, it isn't, it's me. Looked like Blachland at first. That's all. Here you are, September. Take that on to Miss Lyn," replacing the latter's correspondence in the bag. "_Ja, Baas_." And the Kaffir jogged off. Blachland stood there, outwardly calm, but, in reality, stirred through and through. The blow had fallen. The writing on the enclosure which his friend had so nearly handed to him, how well he knew it; could it be, he thought, in a flash of sardonic irony--there had once been a time when it was the most welcome sight his glance could rest upon? The blow had fallen. Hermia had been as good as her word, but even then there were mitigating circumstances, for a ghastly idea had occurred to him that she might, in the plenitude of her malice, have written direct to Lyn, whereas the addresses on the girl's correspondence were in different hands, and which in fact he had seen before. Indeed had it been otherwise he intended to warn Bayfield on no account to pass on the letter until that worthy had satisfied himself as to its contents. "Just as I thought. I've got to clear, and rather sharp too. In fact, to-morrow," running his eyes over his letters. "Have you, old chap? What a beastly nuisance," answered Bayfield, looking up. "We shall miss you no end." Would he? Why on earth didn't the man get on with his correspondence, thought Blachland, for the tension was getting upon his nerves. But the other went chatting on--partly regrets over his own departure--partly about some stock sale of which he had just had news. "Hallo! Who's this from?" he said at last. "I don't know that writing a hang. Well, it's soon settled," tearing the envelope open, with a laugh. But in a moment the laugh died. George Bayfield was grave enough now. A whistle of amazement escaped him, and more than one smothered exclamation of disgust. Blachland, without appearing to, watched him narrowly. Would he never get to the end of that closely written sheet and a half? "Have you any idea what this is about?" The tone was short. All the old cordiality seemed to have left it. "Very much of an idea, Bayfield. I expected something of the kind, and for that very reason, to be quite candid with you, I manoeuvred we should get the post out here away from the house." "I didn't think you'd have done that to us, Blachland. To think of this--this person, under the same roof with--even shaking hands with--my Lyn. Faugh! Good Heavens! man, you might have spared us this!" "Wouldn't I--if it had been possible? But it was not. I give you my word of honour I had no more idea of that woman's presence at Earle's, or indeed in the neighbourhood, or even in this country, than you had yourself. You'll do me the credit of believing that, won't you?"