and at that time.

"I have got a letter for you," he said--and offered it to her.

She was instantly on her guard. They were little better than strangers
to each other, as Arnold had said. A sickening presentiment of some
treachery on Geoffrey's part struck cold to her heart. She refused to
take the letter.

"I expect no letter," she said. "Who told you I was here?" She put
the question, not only with a tone of suspicion, but with a look of
contempt. The look was not an easy one for a man to bear. It required
a momentary exertion of self-control on Arnold's part, before he could
trust himself to answer with due consideration for her. "Is there a
watch set on my actions?" she went on, with rising anger. "And are _you_
the spy?"

"You haven't known me very long, Miss Silvester," Arnold answered,
quietly. "But you ought to know me better than to say that. I am the
bearer of a letter from Geoffrey."

She was an the point of following his example, and of speaking of
Geoffrey by his Christian name, on her side. But she checked herself,
before the word had passed her lips.

"Do you mean Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, coldly.

"Yes."

"What occasion have _I_ for a letter from Mr. Delamayn?"

She was determined to acknowledge nothing--she kept him obstinately at
arm's-length. Arnold did, as a matter of instinct, what a man of larger
experience would have done, as a matter of calculation--he closed with
her boldly, then and there.

"Miss Silvester! it's no use beating about the bush. If you won't take
the letter, you force me to speak out. I am here on a very unpleasant
errand. I begin to wish, from the bottom of my heart, I had never
undertaken it."

A quick spasm of pain passed across her face. She was beginning, dimly
beginning, to understand him. He hesitated. His generous nature shrank
from hurting her.

"Go on," she said, with an effort.

"Try not to be angry with me, Miss Silvester. Geoffrey and I are old
friends. Geoffrey knows he can trust me--"

"Trust you?" she interposed. "Stop!"

Arnold waited. She went on, speaking to herself, not to him.

"When I was in the other room I asked if Geoffrey was there. And this
man answered for him." She sprang forward with a cry of horror.

"Has he told you--"

"For God's sake, read his letter!"

She violently pushed back the hand with which Arnold once more offered
the letter. "You don't look at me! He _has_ told you!"

"Read his letter," persisted Arnold. "In