“I was afraid to come here directly on landing,” said Clare; “yes, even though I bore that letter; so I thought it better to write to you from London, stating my case.” She had risen, laying her tea-cup on the table. Agnes rang the bell for her maid to show Miss Tristram to her room. So soon as she was alone Agnes clasped her hands and said: “Thank God!--thank God! I feel that she has been sent here to comfort me.” She was led to wonder what the girl would have done if she had come to Brackenhurst and found her, Agnes, on the eve of being married to Claude Westwood. How desolate the poor thing would have felt--almost as desolate as Agnes herself had felt a few days before! She thought that Clare was the sweetest girl she had ever seen. She felt better for her coming already; and with this thought on her mind she picked up the letter which she had laid on the table. She broke the seal and began to read the first page. Before she finished it her eyes were tremulous. The words that the dying woman had written committing her daughter to her care, seemed full of pathos. She laid down the letter, she could not read it on account of her tears. Some time passed before she picked it up once more; but before she had read half-way down the second page she gave a start and a little cry. With her head eagerly bent forward and her eyes staring she continued reading, half articulating the words in a fearful whisper. The hand that was not holding the letter was pressed against her heart. Then she gave another cry, and almost staggered to a chair into which she dropped. The letter fell from her hands; she stared straight in front of her, breathing heavily. “My God!” she cried at last. “My God! to think of it! To think of her in this house! Oh, the horror of it!” Her words came with a shudder, and she covered her face with her hands. The next instant, however, she had started up and was gazing eagerly toward the window; the sound of a foot that she knew came from the gravel of the drive. She stood there with one hand clutching the back of a chair, the other still pressed against her side. She was listening eagerly for the ringing of the bell. The ring came. She rushed across the room to where the letter was lying, and hastily thrust it into her pocket. When Claude Westwood entered the room she was seated with a book in front of the fire. CHAPTER XVI