d before a third
party."

"It is of no moment," said Trevelyan, in a low voice. "What does it
signify who knows it now?"

"Do not believe it, Trevelyan," said Stanbury.

"Very well, Mr. S. Very well. Just as you like. Don't believe it.
Only it's true, and it's my business to find them things out. It's
my business, and I finds 'em out. Mr. Trewillian can do as he likes
about it. If it's right, why, then it is right. It ain't for me to
say nothing about that. But there's the fact. The lady, she has wrote
another letter; and the Colonel,--why, he has received it. There
ain't nothing wrong about the post-office. If I was to say what was
inside of that billydou,--why, then I should be proving what I didn't
know; and when it came to standing up in court, I shouldn't be able
to hold my own. But as for the letter, the lady wrote it, and the
Colonel,--he received it."

"That will do, Mr. Bozzle," said Trevelyan.

"Shall I call again, Mr. Trewillian?"

"No;--yes. I'll send to you, when I want you. You shall hear from
me."

"I suppose I'd better be keeping my eyes open about the Colonel's
place, Mr. Trewillian?"

"For God's sake, Trevelyan, do not have anything more to do with this
man!"

"That's all very well for you, Mr. S.," said Bozzle. "The lady ain't
your wife."

"Can you imagine anything more disgraceful than all this?" said
Stanbury.

"Nothing; nothing; nothing!" answered Trevelyan.

"And I'm to keep stirring, and be on the move?" again suggested
Bozzle, who prudently required to be fortified by instructions before
he devoted his time and talents even to so agreeable a pursuit as
that in which he had been engaged.

"You shall hear from me," said Trevelyan.

"Very well;--very well. I wish you good-day, Mr. Trewillian. Mr. S.,
yours most obedient. There was one other point, Mr. Trewillian."

"What point?" asked Trevelyan, angrily.

"If the lady was to join the Colonel--"

"That will do, Mr. Bozzle," said Trevelyan, again jumping up from
his chair. "That will do." So saying, he opened the door, and Bozzle,
with a bow, took his departure. "What on earth am I to do? How am I
to save her?" said the wretched husband, appealing to his friend.

Stanbury endeavoured with all his eloquence to prove that this latter
piece of information from the spy must be incorrect. If such a letter
had been written by Mrs. Trevelyan to Colonel Osborne, it must have
been done while he, Stanbury, was staying at the Clock Hou