I have omitted to mention that a letter was delivered to me from my son Reginald. It was written in London, almost immediately upon his arrival there. There were in it about twenty words in relation to the business I had entrusted to him, for the purpose of securing his absence; the remaining three and a half pages were filled with rhapsodies upon Mildred. It was Mildred, Mildred, nothing and nobody but Mildred. She was the light of his life, the hope, the joy of it; nothing else but Mildred was worth living for. Not even I, his old father, who never thought, who never would think, any sacrifice too great to make for his son's happiness. I did not complain, and I do not; it is the way of things, and we old ones must stand aside, and be humbly grateful that we are allowed to witness the happiness which we have done our utmost to bring about. Not that this was the case with Reginald and myself. The duty devolving upon me was to prevent, not to assist in, the accomplishment of his dearest hopes. How would the lad take it? Would he look upon me as his enemy? Would he thrust me aside, and rush wildly to a fate I shuddered even to contemplate? Would not the example before him serve as a warning? I could not say. The more I thought of the matter the more disturbed I became. Certainly, he could not marry Mildred without Carew's consent, and that, I knew, would be withheld. The true story of her husband's life could not be concealed from the knowledge of Mrs. Carew; and knowing it, she would not allow Mildred to wed. If necessary, Mildred herself must be told how impossible it was that she should ever think of marriage, and she would refuse my son. And Reginald's heart would be broken! Of that I was convinced. It would be a blow from which he would never recover.

These were my reflections as I went out into the grounds of Rosemullion to seek Emilius. I had not long or far to seek. Near the copse in which he was concealed the previous night he suddenly presented himself.

"I have been looking and waiting for you all day," he said. "Can you realise the torture I am suffering?"

I did not answer his question, but gave him an account of what I had done, and then I conveyed Gabriel Carew's message to him.

"To wait till to-morrow!" Emilius exclaimed. "He asks, he implores me to wait till then?"

"I have told you," I said. "It seems to me not unreasonable."

"It seems to you--it seems to you!" he repeated, in petulant excitement; and the next moment begged my pardon for speaking so to me, who had proved myself his friend. "But you do not know this fiend--you do not know of what he is capable! You believe what I have told you of the eternal wrong he has inflicted upon me--a wrong for which he can never hope to be forgiven in this world or the next. You believe it, and yet you say he is justified in asking me to wait till he has had time to carry out the secret design he has formed to prevent me from obtaining justice! You believe it, and yet you justify him! O God in Heaven! Is there, has there ever been, justice on earth? And I am to wait, who have waited for twenty years, who have suffered unjustly for twenty years! And I am to stand aside while he completes his work and dashes the cup of happiness from my lips! No! Again and again, no! This night is my limit. Before it passes I will see Mrs. Carew, and she shall right me. You can tell this to the monster yonder who has juggled you so successfully."

I endeavoured to argue, to reason with him, but he would not listen to me. So I left him, his last words being that nothing on earth should move him from his resolve.