d a certain property
in him, and that his destiny in life would tie him to her. He had
said very few words of love to her at any time,--very few, at least,
that were themselves of any moment; but among those few there had
undoubtedly been one or two in which he had told her that he loved
her. And he had written to her that fatal note! Upon the whole, would
it not be as well for him to go out to the great reservoir behind
Guestwick, by which the Hamersham Canal was fed with its waters, and
put an end to his miserable existence?

On that same day he did write a letter to Fisher, and he wrote also
to Cradell. As to those letters he felt no difficulty. To Fisher he
declared his belief that Cradell was innocent as he was himself as
regarded Mrs Lupex. "I don't think he is the sort of man to make up
to a married woman," he said, somewhat to Cradell's displeasure,
when the letter reached the Income-tax Office; for that gentleman
was not averse to the reputation for success in love which the
little adventure was, as he thought, calculated to give him among
his brother clerks. At the first bursting of the shell, when that
desperately jealous man was raging in the parlour, incensed by the
fumes both of wine and love, Cradell had felt that the affair was
disagreeably painful. But on the morning of the third day,--for he
had passed two nights on his friend Fisher's sofa,--he had begun to
be somewhat proud of it, and did not dislike to hear Mrs Lupex's
name in the mouths of the other clerks. When, therefore, Fisher read
to him the letter from Guestwick, he hardly was pleased with his
friend's tone. "Ha, ha, ha," said he, laughing. "That's just what I
wanted him to say. Make up to a married woman, indeed. No; I'm the
last man in London to do that sort of thing."

"Upon my word, Caudle, I think you are," said Fisher; "the very last
man."

And then poor Cradell was not happy. On that afternoon he boldly went
to Burton Crescent, and ate his dinner there. Neither Mr nor Mrs
Lupex were to be seen, nor were their names mentioned to him by Mrs
Roper. In the course of the evening he did pluck up courage to ask
Miss Spruce where they were; but that ancient lady merely shook her
head solemnly, and declared that she knew nothing about such goings
on;--no, not she.

But what was John Eames to do as to that letter from Amelia Roper? He
felt that any answer to it would be very dangerous, and yet that he
could not safely leave it unanswered.