Archibald Cator had turned away, and was making a pretence of examining the titles of the books in the bookcase on the opposite side of the room while Claudia and Dudley stood silently hand in hand. The captain had an appointment to see the Marquess of Stockbridge in company with the Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office at one o'clock, when the serious charges were to be privately investigated. The hour was drawing near, and the white-faced, tearful woman was taking leave of the guilty man, whom she had so fondly and so truly loved. There was in her eyes an inexpressible sadness, and the quivering lips he had so often kissed with tender passion showed plainly the agony she was suffering. "Forgive me, Claudia, forgive me for the sake of the love of old!" he implored, whispering in her ear. "With your forgiveness I can face my fate unflinchingly, knowing that my punishment is just." "Dudley," she answered in a voice broken by emotion, as she uttered what was to her the dearest of all names, "I forgive you everything. A cruel, an inexorable fate tears us apart, but I shall never forget you-- never. May God forgive you as I forgive you." "Thank you, my heart, for those encouraging words," he cried, snatching up her hand and imprinting upon it a lingering kiss of farewell. As their eyes met for a single instant, in hers he saw a look of blank despair and mingled sympathy more expressive than any words could possibly be. "Farewell, Dudley!" was all she said. "I shall pray to Him for you." She turned slowly from him and walked across to the door, while Cator drew back the velvet _portiere_ and bowed in silence. At this moment the door was thrown open by Parsons, who carried a rather bulky letter and a card upon his salver. "The gentleman who called in the night has called again, sir," announced the old man. "I told him you were engaged, but he said he could not possibly wait, as he was sailing from London almost immediately. He regretted missing you, and left this letter." His master glanced at the card, and saw that it bore the name "Ralph Brodie," with the word "Boodle's" in the corner. With nervous fingers he quickly tore open the envelope and drew from it a note, together with a smaller envelope, rather soiled, sealed with black wax, and addressed to him in a woman's pointed hand. Claudia, who had halted, stood watching him. The note was a brief one, written by Brodie from his club, stating with regret that his wife had died of consumption a month ago. Among the papers which he found after her death was the enclosed, together with instructions that he should deliver it personally and unopened. This he did. As he had only been in London a few hours on urgent business, and was compelled to return to India by the _Caledonia_ that afternoon, he had written this note of explanation in case they could not meet.