Adam Salton went for a walk before returning to Lesser Hill; he felt that it might be well, not only to steady his nerves, shaken by the horrible scene, but to get his thoughts into some sort of order, so as to be ready to enter on the matter with Sir Nathaniel.  He was a little embarrassed as to telling his uncle, for affairs had so vastly progressed beyond his original view that he felt a little doubtful as to what would be the old gentleman’s attitude when he should hear of the strange events for the first time.  Mr. Salton would certainly not be satisfied at being treated as an outsider with regard to such things, most of which had points of contact with the inmates of his own house.  It was with an immense sense of relief that Adam heard that his uncle had telegraphed to the housekeeper that he was detained by business at Walsall, where he would remain for the night; and that he would be back in the morning in time for lunch.

When Adam got home after his walk, he found Sir Nathaniel just going to bed.  He did not say anything to him then of what had happened, but contented himself with arranging that they would walk together in the early morning, as he had much to say that would require serious attention.

Strangely enough he slept well, and awoke at dawn with his mind clear and his nerves in their usual unshaken condition.  The maid brought up, with his early morning cup of tea, a note which had been found in the letter-box.  It was from Lady Arabella, and was evidently intended to put him on his guard as to what he should say about the previous evening.

He read it over carefully several times, before he was satisfied that he had taken in its full import.

“DEAR MR. SALTON,

“I cannot go to bed until I have written to you, so you must forgive me if I disturb you, and at an unseemly time.  Indeed, you must also forgive me if, in trying to do what is right, I err in saying too much or too little.  The fact is that I am quite upset and unnerved by all that has happened in this terrible night.  I find it difficult even to write; my hands shake so that they are not under control, and I am trembling all over with memory of the horrors we saw enacted before our eyes.  I am grieved beyond measure that I should be, however remotely, a cause of this horror coming on you.  Forgive me if you can, and do not think too hardly of me.  This I ask with confidence, for since we shared together the danger—the very pangs—of death, I feel that we should be to one another something more than mere friends, that I may lean on you and trust you, assured that your sympathy and pity are for me.  You really must let me thank you for the friendliness, the help, the confidence, the real aid at a time of deadly danger and deadly fear which you showed me.  That awful man—I shall see him for ever in my dreams.  His black, malignant face will shut out all memory of sunshine and happiness.  I shall eternally see his evil eyes as he threw himself into that well-hole in a vain effort to escape from the consequences of his own misdoing.  The more I think of it, the more apparent it seems to me that he had premeditated the whole thing—of course, except his own horrible death.

“Perhaps you have noticed a fur collar I occasionally wear.  It is one of my most valued treasures—an ermine collar studded with emeralds.  I had often seen the nigger’s eyes gleam covetously when he looked at it.  Unhappily, I wore it yesterday.  That may have been the cause that lured the poor man to his doom.  On the very brink of the abyss he tore the collar from my neck—that was the last I saw of him.  When he sank into the hole, I was rushing to the iron door, which I pulled behind me.  When I heard that soul-sickening yell, which marked his disappearance in the chasm, I was more glad than I can say that my eyes were spared the pain and horror which my ears had to endure.

“When I tore myself out of the negro’s grasp as he sank into the well-hole; I realised what freedom meant.  Freedom!  Freedom!  Not only from that noisome prison-house, which has now such a memory, but from the more noisome embrace of that hideous monster.  Whilst I live, I shall always thank you for my freedom.  A woman must sometimes express her gratitude; otherwise it becomes too great to bear.  I am not a sentimental girl, who merely likes to thank a man; I am a woman who knows all, of bad as well as good, that life can give.  I have known what it is to love and to lose.  But you must not let me bring any unhappiness into your life.  I must live on—as I have lived—alone, and, in addition, bear with other woes the memory of this latest insult and horror.  In the meantime, I must get away as quickly as possible from Diana’s Grove.  In the morning I shall go up to town, where I shall remain for a week—I cannot stay longer, as business affairs demand my presence here.  I think, however, that a week in the rush of busy London, surrounded with multitudes of commonplace people, will help to soften—I cannot expect total obliteration—the terrible images of the bygone night.  When I can sleep easily—which will be, I hope, after a day or two—I shall be fit to return home and take up again the burden which will, I suppose, always be with me.

“I shall be most happy to see you on my return—or earlier, if my good fortune sends you on any errand to London.  I shall stay at the Mayfair Hotel.  In that busy spot we may forget some of the dangers and horrors we have shared together.  Adieu, and thank you, again and again, for all your kindness and consideration to me.

“ARABELLA MARSH.”

Adam was surprised by this effusive epistle, but he determined to say nothing of it to Sir Nathaniel until he should have thought it well over.  When Adam met Sir Nathaniel at breakfast, he was glad that he had taken time to turn things over in his mind.  The result had been that not only was he familiar with the facts in all their bearings, but he had already so far differentiated them that he was able to arrange them in his own mind according to their values.  Breakfast had been a silent function, so it did not interfere in any way with the process of thought.

So soon as the door was closed, Sir Nathaniel began:

“I see, Adam, that something has occurred, and that you have much to tell me.”

“That is so, sir.  I suppose I had better begin by telling you all I know—all that has happened since I left you yesterday?”

Accordingly Adam gave him details of all that had happened during the previous evening.  He confined himself rigidly to the narration of circumstances, taking care not to colour events by any comment of his own, or any opinion of the meaning of things which he did not fully understand.  At first, Sir Nathaniel seemed disposed to ask questions, but shortly gave this up when he recognised that the narration was concise and self-explanatory.  Thenceforth, he contented himself with quick looks and glances, easily interpreted, or by some acquiescent motions of his hands, when such could be convenient, to emphasise his idea of the correctness of any inference.  Until Adam ceased speaking, having evidently come to an end of what he had to say with regard to this section of his story, the elder man made no comment whatever.  Even when Adam took from his pocket Lady Arabella’s letter, with the manifest intention of reading it, he did not make any comment.  Finally, when Adam folded up the letter and put it, in its envelope, back in his pocket, as an intimation that he had now quite finished, the old diplomatist carefully made a few notes in his pocket-book.

“Your narrative, my dear Adam, is altogether admirable.  I think I may now take it that we are both well versed in the actual facts, and that our conference had better take the shape of a mutual exchange of ideas.  Let us both ask questions as they may arise; and I do not doubt that we shall arrive at some enlightening conclusions.”

“Will you kindly begin, sir?  I do not doubt that, with your longer experience, you will be able to dissipate some of the fog which envelops certain of the things which we have to consider.”

“I hope so, my dear boy.  For a beginning, then, let me say that Lady Arabella’s letter makes clear some things which she intended—and also some things which she did not intend.  But, before I begin to draw deductions, let me ask you a few questions.  Adam, are you heart-whole, quite heart-whole, in the matter of Lady Arabella?”

His companion answered at once, each looking the other straight in the eyes during question and answer.

“Lady Arabella, sir, is a charming woman, and I should have deemed it a privilege to meet her—to talk to her—even—since I am in the confessional—to flirt a little with her.  But if you mean to ask if my affections are in any way engaged, I can emphatically answer ‘No!’—as indeed you will understand when presently I give you the reason.  Apart from that, there are the unpleasant details we discussed the other day.”

“Could you—would you mind giving me the reason now?  It will help us to understand what is before us, in the way of difficulty.”

“Certainly, sir.  My reason, on which I can fully depend, is that I love another woman!”

“That clinches it.  May I offer my good wishes, and, I hope, my congratulations?”

“I am proud of your good wishes, sir, and I thank you for them.  But it is too soon for congratulations—the lady does not even know my hopes yet.  Indeed, I hardly knew them myself, as definite, till this moment.”

“I take it then, Adam, that at the right time I may be allowed to know who the lady is?”

Adam laughed a low, sweet laugh, such as ripples from a happy heart.

“There need not be an hour’s, a minute’s delay.  I shall be glad to share my secret with you, sir.  The lady, sir, whom I am so happy as to love, and in whom my dreams of life-long happiness are centred, is Mimi Watford!”

“Then, my dear Adam, I need not wait to offer congratulations.  She is indeed a very charming young lady.  I do not think I ever saw a girl who united in such perfection the qualities of strength of character and sweetness of disposition.  With all my heart, I congratulate you.  Then I may take it that my question as to your heart-wholeness is answered in the affirmative?”

“Yes; and now, sir, may I ask in turn why the question?”

“Certainly!  I asked because it seems to me that we are coming to a point where my questions might be painful to you.”

“It is not merely that I love Mimi, but I have reason to look on Lady Arabella as her enemy,” Adam continued.

“Her enemy?”

“Yes.  A rank and unscrupulous enemy who is bent on her destruction.”

Sir Nathaniel went to the door, looked outside it and returned, locking it carefully behind him. fi93EcGH5UCtghx3XeQYsR32F7Oh+qelwFFDtPjNhRdYcGM06LJJMKYbh3UVOkuj