‘I am going to send this off by the midnight post, and as it is now nearly eleven, I have not too much time. By doing this, you will receive it twelve hours before my arrival with Miss Wellfield. I called at Miss Ford’s house yesterday, and found her at home. Do you know, once it came into my head that Miss Ford might be the lady to whom you told me honour bound you, but I very soon abandoned that idea, for all the world credits her with being betrothed, or about to be betrothed, to Rudolf Falkenberg, the great Frankfort banker. You know whom I mean. If I may judge from my own observation, I should say report was right. He was sitting with her when I arrived, and I saw that I was unwelcome to both. He certainly pays her most devoted attention, and she, I should imagine, was far from feeling indifferent to him. These envious German women say: “What a match for her;” but I think you will agree with me that an Englishwoman like Miss Ford (for I take it for granted that you do know her pretty well) is more than worthy of anything that any man of any nation may have to offer her. She certainly is a magnificent being. But enough of this. Your sister will no doubt regale you with the same news, for she appears devoted to Miss Ford. The latter sends her maid to travel along with Miss Wellfield. I suppose we shall arrive at Wellfield about five in the afternoon. I have been wondering how your affairs are progressing. How glad I should be to hear on my arrival that the thing I so wish for were accomplished, and that you had decided to take that place which you assuredly ought to have. Well, I shall soon see you, I suppose. By the way, on our way through London we shall call at the Great Western Hotel to breakfast or rest, that will be the morning of the day after to-morrow. If you have any communication telegraph to me there. Time presses, so, until I place Miss Wellfield under your brotherly protection, farewell. ‘Yours ever, ‘PABLO SOMERVILLE.’ Somerville himself sallied forth with this to the General Post, ascertained that it was in time for the night-mail, and that it would reach its destination on the following evening. Then he returned to his hotel, sighed, undressed, stretched himself upon his couch, and slept that sleep of the labouring man, which we are told is sweet. Sara Ford, too, had left the party early, and, accompanied by Falkenberg, had walked home. They maintained an almost unbroken silence till they arrived at the great doorway of her home. Then they paused, and Falkenberg said: ‘After to-morrow morning, I suppose, you will be alone for a few days.’ ‘Yes; till Ellen can go to Wellfield, have a night’s rest, and return to me.’ ‘Then I must not call so often, I fear.’