He suddenly stopped in his work and looked round him with a ghastly smile. Last night he had been calculating that his only way of avoiding exposure lay through the freedom of himself to marry Maud. But suppose anything were to happen to his wife _now_. Suppose she died that very day; suppose she had died a week ago, a month ago; what would have occurred? He should then be a childless widower, younger in appearance and in manner than in years, and even young enough in years to be the suitor of any girl. Was it likely if he were so circumstanced Sir Alexander might not think of altering the will, of introducing into it another guardian, executor, or trustee? True, Sir Alexander was not an ordinary man, and had unlimited confidence in him, Grey; but surely he could not be such a fool as to leave his daughter and his daughter's fortune in the hands solely of a popular, good-looking, and an agreeable widower of forty-five? The thought flurried him, and he gasped and covered his face with his handkerchief, and leaned upon the mantelpiece. Last night it had appeared to him nothing more advantageous to his fortune could arise than the death of his wife. Now that event seemed the most disastrous which could befall him. The more he looked at the whole situation the more hopeless his position appeared. What last night he regarded as the gateway to deliverance now was the cavern of ruin. Well, he had begun burning this book, and he might as well finish it. Destroying this could have no important influence for evil on the case, and might be beneficial or have a mitigating influence. At last the whole book lay in a mass of black and blue ashes at his feet. He stood in front of the pile for a few moments thinking. "Between that book and me there is great similarity. It was once truthful, then it recorded a lie, and now it is burnt and black. I was once honest; I fell; and now my position, my prospects, and my hopes are in ashes. There is no chance of escape." It was after five o'clock. He rang the bell; as he did so, he heard the street-bell ring also. "Aldridge coming back from his constitutional." Then, correcting himself, he thought: "Of course, Aldridge doesn't ring." He unlocked the doors, and in a few minutes the servant knocked and entered. "I want you to tidy up that grate; I've been burning some old letters," said Grey. "Yes, sir; a letter for you, sir, just come." "All right; leave it on my table." "Beg pardon, sir, but it's from the Castle, and marked immediate." The banker took it and glanced at the superscription as the servant withdrew. "From Mrs. Grant," he muttered. "What can it be now?" He tore open the envelope and read the contents hastily. The note was very brief. Sir Alexander had had a bad night, and was rather worse this morning. He particularly wanted to see Mr. Grey _at once_. Would Mr. Grey be so good as to come _instantly_ upon receipt of this? The words in italics were underlined heavily three or four times.