The days passed by and brought no letter, in answer to Castalia's, from Lord Seely. Dreary were the hours in Ivy Lodge. The wife was devoured by passionate jealousy and a vain yearning for affection; the husband found that even the bright, smooth, hard metal of his own character was not impervious to the corrosive action of daily cares, regrets, and apprehensions. Algernon was not apt to hate. He usually perceived the absurd side of persons who were obnoxious to him with too keen an amusement to detest them; and the inmost feeling of his heart with respect to his fellow-creatures in general approached, perhaps, as nearly to perfect indifference as it is given to a mortal to attain. But it was not possible to preserve a condition of indifference towards Castalia. She was a thorn in his flesh, a mote in his eye, a weariness to his spirit; and he began to dislike the very sight of the sallow, sickly face, red-eyed too often, and haggard with discontent, that met his view whenever he was in his own home. It was the daily "worry" of it, he told himself, that was unendurable. It was the being shut up with her in a box like Ivy Lodge, where there was no room for them to get away from each other. If he could have shared a mansion in Grosvenor Square with Castalia he might have got on with her well enough! But then, that mansion in Grosvenor Square would have made so many things different in his life.

At length one day came a letter to Castalia, with the London post-mark and sealed with the well-known coat of arms, but it did not bear Lord Seely's frank. Another name was scrawled in the corner, and the direction was written in Lady Seely's crooked, cramped little characters.

"I'm afraid Uncle Val must be ill!" exclaimed Castalia, opening the letter with a trembling hand. She was so weak and nervous now that the most trifling agitation made her heart beat painfully. My lady's epistle was not long, and, as a knowledge of its contents is essential to the due comprehension of this story, it is given in full, with her ladyship's own phraseology and orthography:—

    "My dear Castalia,—I cannot think what on earth you are about to write such letters to your uncle. Go abroad, indeed! I suppose Ancram would like the embassy to St. Petersburg, or to be governor of the Ionian Islands. It's all nonsense, and you had better put such ideas out of your head at once, and for all. I should think you might know that we have other people to think of besides your husband, especially after all we have done for him. Your uncle is very ill in bed with an attack of the gout, and can't write himself. The doctor thinks he won't be about again for weeks. You can guess what trouble this throws on to my shoulders, so I hope you won't worry me by any more such letters as the last. As if there was not anxiety enough, Fido had a fit on Thursday. I hope you are pretty well. What a blessing you've no sign of a family. With only you two to keep, you ought to do very well on Ancram's salary, and you can tell him I say so. Yours affectionately,

    "B. Seely."

"Poor Uncle Val!" exclaimed Castalia, dropping the letter from her hand. "I was afraid he was ill."

"Pshaw! A touch of the gout won't kill him," said Algernon, who had been reading over her shoulder. "But it's deuced unfortunate for me that he should be laid up at this time, and quite helpless in the hands of that old catamaran."

"Poor Uncle Val! Perhaps he never got my letter at all."

"Nothing more likely, if my lady could prevent his getting it."

"Perhaps, when he gets better, I can write to him again, and ask him——"

"When he gets better? Oh yes, certainly. We have plenty of time. There is no hurry, of course!"

"I see that you are speaking satirically, Ancram, but I don't know why."

Her husband shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room. As he left the house he was met at the garden-gate by a bright-eyed, consumptive-looking lad, in shabby working clothes, who touched his cap, and held out a paper to Algernon. "What do you want?" asked the latter. "Mr. Gladwish, sir. His account, if you please, sir."

"And who the devil is Mr. Gladwish?"

"The shoemaker, sir."

"Oh! Mr. Gladwish, then, is an extremely importunate, impatient, troublesome fellow. This is the third or fourth time within a very few weeks that he has sent in his bill. I'm not accustomed to that sort of thing. I don't understand it. Don't give me the paper, boy. Take it into the house."

"Please, sir," began the lad, and stopped, hesitatingly. Then seeing that Mr. Errington was walking off without taking any further notice of him, he repeated in a louder, firmer tone, "Please, sir, Mr. Gladwish is really in want of the money. He has two of the children bad with fever. And I was to say that even five pounds on account would be acceptable."

"Five pounds! He's too modest. I haven't got five pounds, nor five minutes. I'm busy."

"Then, I'm sorry to say, sir, that Mr. Gladwish will take legal proceedings for the debt at once. He told me to tell you so."

"Nice state of things!" muttered Algernon, as he walked towards the post-office, with his head bent down and his hands deep in his pockets. "But that's nothing. It's those cursed bills in Maxfield's hands that are on my mind like lead."

His spirits were not lightened by that which awaited him at the office. He had to undergo an interview with the district surveyor, who was very grave, not to say severe, in speaking of the irregularities which had been complained of, and were looked on as very serious at the head office. The surveyor ended by plainly hinting his hope that persons having no business at the office would be strictly forbidden from having access to it at abnormal hours. "I—I don't understand you," stammered Algernon.

"Mr. Errington," said the surveyor, "I am speaking to you, not officially, but confidentially, and as man to man. I have been having a little conversation with Mr. Gibbs—who seems to have none but good feeling towards you, but who—in short, I think it is not needful to be more explicit. I advise you in all friendliness to be stern and decisive in keeping every person out of this office except such as have recognised business to be here. If further trouble arises, I shall have to do my duty, and make my report without respect of any persons whatsoever."

"Perhaps," said Algernon, who was white to his lips, but otherwise apparently unmoved, "perhaps it would be best for me to resign my post here at once. If the authorities above me find cause for dissatisfaction——"

"I can give you no advice as to that, Mr. Errington. You must know your own affairs better than I do."

"There are things which a man can scarcely say even to himself; considerations which are painful as they float dimly in one's own mind, but which would be unendurable uttered aloud in words. Anything like a public scandal—or—or—disgrace to me, would involve a large circle of persons—many of them persons of rank and consideration in the world. You are possibly aware that—my wife"—there was a peculiar tone in Algernon's voice as he said these two words—"is a niece of Lord Seely?"

But the official gentleman declined to enter into the question of Mr. Errington's family connections. "Oh," said he, coldly; "we must hope there will be no question of scandal or disgrace." Then he went away, leaving Algernon in a chaos of doubt as to whether he should, or should not, speak further on the subject to Obadiah Gibbs. Obadiah Gibbs, however, decided the question for him. He came into Algernon's room, closing the door carefully behind him, and asked to speak a few words in private. Algernon was sitting in the luxurious easy-chair which he had had carried into the office for his own use. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon of a dull November day. The single window which looked on to a white-washed court threw a ghastly pallid light on Algernon's face as he sat opposite to it, with his head thrown back against the cushions of the high chair. Mr. Gibbs was touched with compassion at seeing how changed the bright young face looked since he had first been acquainted with it. And yet, in truth, the change was not a very deep one: it was more in colouring, and the expression of the moment, than in any lines which care had graven.

"Come in, Gibbs; come in," said Algernon, with his affable air. The clerk seemed the more anxious and disturbed of the two. He sat down on the chair Algernon pointed out to him in a constrained posture, and seemed to have some difficulty in beginning to speak, albeit not a man usually liable to embarrassment of manner. His superior stretched his feet out nearer to the hearth, and slightly moved his white hand to and fro, looking, as a child might have done, at the glitter of a ring he wore in the firelight.

"Mr. Wing did not seem very well pleased, sir," said Gibbs, after clearing his throat.

"Of course he had to appear displeased, whether he was or not, Gibbs. A little hocus-pocus, a little official solemnity, is the thing to assume, I suppose. I think that man's nose is the very longest I ever saw. Remarkable nose, eh, Gibbs?"

"But, sir," continued Gibbs, declining to discuss the surveyor's nose, "he said that from inquiries that had been made, it's pretty certain that the missing letters were—stolen—they must have been stolen—at Whitford."

"Very intelligent on the part of the official, Mr. Wing! Only I think you and I had come to pretty nearly the same conclusion before."

"He made strict inquiries about the people in the office here, and I had to give him what information I could, sir."

"Of course, of course, Gibbs! I quite understand," said Algernon, putting his hand out to shake that of the cler............