Ah! he could not wish it as she did. Her tears silently fell, and she began in the desperate need to debate in her own heart whether the impossible might not be accomplished--disarming the anger of Mr. Chattaway, and getting him to pardon Rupert. In that case only could he be removed. Perhaps Diana might effect it? If she could not, no one else could. As she thought of its utter hopelessness, there came to her recollection that recent letter from Connell and Connell, which had so upset the equanimity of Mr. Chattaway. She had not yet mentioned it to Rupert, but must do so now. Her private opinion was, that Rupert had written to the London lawyers for the purpose of vexing Mr. Chattaway. "It is not right, Rupert, dear," she whispered. "It can only do harm. If it does no other harm, it will by increasing Mr. Chattaway's anger. Indeed, dear, it was wrong." He looked up in surprise from his pillow. "I don't know what you mean, Aunt Edith. Connell and Connell? What should I do, writing to Connell and Connell?" She explained about the letter, reciting its contents as accurately as she remembered them. Rupert only stared. "Acting for me!--I to take possession of the Hold! Well, I don't know anything about it," he wearily answered. "Why does not Mr. Chattaway go up and ask them what they mean? Connell and Connell don't know me, and I don't know them. Am I in a fit state to write letters, Aunt Edith?" "It seemed to me the most unlikely thing in the world, Rupert, but what else was I to think?" "They'd better have written to say I was going to take possession of the grave," he resumed; "there'd be more sense in that. Perhaps I am, Aunt Edith." More sense in it? Ay, there would be. Every pulse in Mrs. Chattaway's heart echoed the words. She did not answer, and a pause ensued only broken by his somewhat painful breathing. "Do you think I shall die, Aunt Edith?" "Oh, my boy, I hope not; I hope not! But it is all in God's will. Rupert, darling, it seems a sad thing, especially to the young, to leave this world; but do you know what I often think as I lie and sigh through my sleepless nights: that it would be a blessed change both for you and for me if God were to take us from it, and give us a place in heaven." Another pause. "You can tell Mr. Chattaway you feel sure I had nothing to do with the letter, Aunt Edith." She shook her head. "No, Rupert; the less I say the better. It would not do; I should fear some chance word on my part might betray you: and all I could say would not make any impression on Mr. Chattaway." "You are not going!" he exclaimed, as she rose from her seat on the bed. "I must. I wish I could stay, but I dare not; indeed it was not safe to-night to come in at all." "Aunt Edith, if you could only stay! It is so lonely. Four-and-twenty hours before I shall see you or Maude again! It is like being left alone to die."