goes back to the brandy-bottle, his life, in my opinion, is not worth five minutes' purchase. Can you keep him from drinking?'
Anne answered sadly and plainly:
'I have no influence over him. The terms we are living on here—'
Mr. Speedwell considerately stopped her.
'I understand,' he said. 'I will see his brother on my way home.' He looked for a moment at Anne. 'You are far from well yourself,' he resumed. 'Can I do any thing for you?'
'While I am living my present life, Mr. Speedwell, not even your skill can help me.'
The surgeon took his leave. Anne hurried back up stairs, before Geoffrey could re-enter the cottage. To see the man who had laid her life waste—to meet the vindictive hatred that looked furtively at her out of his eyes—at the moment when sentence of death had been pronounced on him, was an ordeal from which every finer instinct in her nature shrank in horror.
Hour by hour, the morning wore on, and he made no attempt to communicate with her, Stranger still, Hester Dethridge never appeared. The servant came up stairs to say goodby; and went away for her holiday. Shortly afterward, certain sounds reached Anne's ears from the opposite side of the passage. She heard the strokes of a hammer, and then a noise as of some heavy piece of furniture being moved. The mysterious repairs were apparently being begun in the spare room.
She went to the window. The hour was approaching at which Sir Patrick and Blanche might be expected to make the attempt to see her.
For the third time, she looked at the letter.
It suggested, on this occasion, a new consideration to her. Did the strong measures which Sir Patrick had taken in secret indicate alarm as well as sympathy? Did he believe she was in a position in which the protection of the law was powerless to reach her? It seemed just possible. Suppose she were free to consult a magistrate, and to own to him (if words could express it) the vague presentiment of danger which was then present in her mind—what proof could she produce to satisfy the mind of a stranger? The proofs were all in her husband's favor. Witnesses could testify to the conciliatory words which he had spoken to her in their presence. The evidence of his mother and brother would show that he had preferred to sacrifice his own pecuniary interests rather than consent to part with her. She could furnish nobody with the smallest excuse, in her case, for interfering between man and wife. Did Sir Patrick see this? And did Blanche's description of what he and Arnold Brinkworth were doing point to the conclusion that they were taking the law into their own hands in despair? The more she thought of it, the more likely it seemed.
She was still pursuing the train of thought thus suggested, when the gate-bell rang.
The noises in the spare room suddenly stopped.
Anne looked out. The roof of a carriage was visible on the other side of the wall. Sir Patrick and Blanche had arrived. After an interval Hester Dethridge appeared in the garden, and went to the grating in the gate. Anne heard Sir Patrick's voice, clear and resolute. Every word he said reached her ears through the open window.
'Be so good as to give my card to Mr. Delamayn. Say that I bring him a message from Holchester House, and that I can only deliver it at a personal interview.'
Hester Dethridge returned to the cottage. Another, and a longer interval elapsed. At the end of the time, Geoffrey himself appeared in the front garden, with the key in his hand. Anne's heart throbbed fast as she saw him unlock the gate, and asked herself what was to follow.
To her unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey admitted Sir Patrick without the slightest hesitation—and, more still, he invited Blanche to leave the carriage and come in!
'Let by-gones be by-gones,' Anne heard him say to Sir Patrick. 'I only want to do the right thing. If it's the right thing for visitors to come here, so soon after my father's death, come, and welcome. My own notion was, when you proposed it before, that it was wrong. I am not much versed in these things. I leave it to you.'
'A visitor who brings you messages from your mother and your brother,' Sir Patrick answered gravely, 'is a person whom it is your duty to admit, Mr. Delamayn, under any circumstances.'
'And he ought to be none the less welcome,' added Blanche, 'when he is accompanied by your wife's oldest and dearest friend.'
Geoffrey looked, in stolid submission, from one to the other.
'I am not much versed in these things,' he repeated. 'I have said already, I leave it to you.'
They were by this time close under Anne's window. She showed herself. Sir Patrick took off his hat. Blanche kissed her hand with a cry of joy, and attempted to enter the cottage. Geoffrey stopped her—and called to his wife to come down.
'No! no!' said Blanche. 'Let me go up to her in her room.'
She attempted for the second time to gain the stairs. For the second time Geoffrey stopped her. 'Don't trouble yourself,' he said; 'she is coming down.'
Anne joined them in the front garden. Blanche flew into her arms and devoured her with kisses. Sir Patrick took her hand in silence. For the first time in Anne's experience of him, the bright, resolute, self-reliant old man was, for the moment, at a loss what to say, at a loss what to do. His eyes, resting on her in mute sympathy and interest, said plainly, 'In your husband's presence I must not trust myself to speak.'
Geoffrey broke the silence.
'Will you go into the drawing-room?' he asked, looking with steady attention at his wife and Blanche.
Geoffrey's voice appeared to rouse Sir Patrick. He raised his head—he looked like himself again.
'Why go indoors this lovely weather?' he said. 'Suppose we take a turn in the garden?'
Blanche pressed Anne's hand significantly. The proposal was evidently made for a purpose. They turned the corner of the cottage and gained the large garden at the back—the two ladies walking together, arm in arm; Sir Patrick and Geoffrey following them. Little by little, Blanche quickened her pace. 'I have got my instructions,' she
