he name of 'Miss. Lord,' Nancy having disguised herself as
'Mrs. Woodruff;' but they had always come by post, and the present
missive must be from some acquaintance actually in the town. Nancy could
not remember the handwriting. Breaking open the envelope as she lay
in bed, she saw with alarm the signature 'Luckworth Crewe.' He was at
Falmouth on business, Crewe wrote, and, before leaving London, he had
ventured to ask Miss Lord's address from her brother, whom he casually
met somewhere. Would Nancy allow him to see her, were it but for a
minute or two? Earnestly he besought this favour. He desired nothing
more than to see Miss. Lord, and to speak with her in the way of an
ordinary acquaintance. After all this time, she had, he felt sure,
forgiven his behaviour at their last meeting. Only five minutes of
conversation--

All seemed lost. Nancy was silent in despair. But Mary faced the
perilous juncture, and, to all appearances, averted catastrophe. She
dressed herself, and went straight to the hotel where Crewe had put
up, and where he awaited an answer. Having made known who she was, she
delivered a verbal message: Miss. Lord was not well enough to see any
one to-day, and, in any case, she could not have received Mr Crewe;
she begged him to pardon her; before long, they might perhaps meet
in London, but, for her own part, she wished Mr. Crewe would learn to
regard her as a stranger. Of course there followed a dialogue; and Mary,
seeming to speak with all freedom, convinced Crewe that his attempt
to gain an interview was quite hopeless. She gave him much information
concerning her mistress--none of it false, but all misleading--and in
the end had to resist an offer of gold coins, pressed upon her as a
bribe for her good word with Nancy.

The question was--had Crewe been content to leave Falmouth without
making inquiries of other people? To a man of his experience, nothing
was easier than such investigation. But, with other grounds of anxiety,
this had ceased to disturb Nancy's mind. Practically, she lived as
though all danger were at an end. The task immediately before her seemed
very simple; she had only to resume the old habits, and guard against
thoughtless self-betrayal in her everyday talk. The chance that any one
would discover her habit of visiting a certain house at the distance of
several miles from Camberwell, was too slight for consideration.

She wrote to Mr. Barmby, senior, informing him of her return, in