s to the linen draper's and the chemist's, and bring me back the
things I have written for."

"Certainly, miss," said Pottinger; then he remembered Stafford's order,
and looked anything but certain. "Would it do late in the morning,
miss? I have to go somewhere first."

"Oh, yes," she replied, "where shall I put the letters--in this wallet?"

Pottinger answered in the affirmative and thanked her, and she
unfastened the wallet, talking to him as she did so. "Is that a
swelling on that near fore leg, Pottinger?" she said, suddenly,
pointing to Adonis.

Pottinger started and regarded her with a look of horror, and, of
course, instantly knelt down to examine the suspected member. Long
before he had come up again with a breath of relief and a smiling "No,
miss, there is nothing the matter with it," she had looked into the
wallet and seen Stafford's letter.

"Oh, I thought there was," she said. "Have you finished your horses?"

"No, miss," he replied. "I have the master's hunter and the mare you
ride to do yet."

She nodded and went out of the stable, humming one of her songs; but
she did not go very far. In five minutes she back again.

"Oh, Pottinger, don't trouble about those letters. I will ride into
Bryndermere myself."

Pottinger was in the mare's stall, and Mause stopped him as he was
coming forward, by saying:

"Don't trouble; I'll take the letters from the wallet."

With Stafford's letter amongst her own in her pocket, she went quickly,
and yet without apparent hurry, to her own room, sent away her maid on
an errand, and slipped the bolt in the door. Rapidly she lit her silver
spirit-lamp and heated the water almost to boiling-point, and held the
envelope of Stafford's letter over it until the gum was melted and the
flap came open. Then she took out the letter, and, throwing herself
back in an easy-chair, read it slowly.

At first, as she read, her face burned, then it grew pale, and still
paler; every word of the bitter farewell, of the renunciation, written
as if with a man's heart's blood, stabbed her and tortured her with the
pangs of jealousy. Once she started to her feet, her hands clenched,
her head thrown back her eyes flashing; a superb figure--the tigress
aroused. At that instant she was minded to take the letter and fling it
in Stafford's face, and with it fling back the pledge which he had
given her the night before; then she collapsed, as it were, and sank
into a chair, dropping the letter