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to see her ladyship. Mercury replies that she is going out to dinner; don't he see the carriage at the door? Yes, he does see the carriage at the door; but he wants to see my lady too.

Mercury is disposed, as he will presently declare to a fellow gentleman in waiting, “to pitch into the young man;” but his instructions are positive. Therefore he sulkily supposes that the young man must come up into the library. There he leaves the young man in a large room, not over-light, while he makes report of him.

Mr. Guppy looks into the shade in all directions, discovering everywhere a certain charred and whitened little heap of coal or wood. Presently he hears a rustling. Is it—? No, it's no ghost; but fair flesh and blood, most brilliantly dressed.

“I have to beg your ladyship's pardon,” Mr. Guppy stammers, very downcast. “This is an inconvenient time———”

“I told you, you could come at any time.” She takes a chair, looking straight at him as on the last occasion.

“Thank your ladyship. Your ladyship is very affable.”

“You can sit down.” There is not much affability in her tone.

“I don't know, your ladyship, that it's worth while my sitting down and detaining you, for I-I have not got the letters that I mentioned when I had the honor of waiting on your ladyship.”

“Have you come merely to say so?”

“Merely to say so, your ladyship.” Mr. Guppy, besides being depressed, disappointed, and uneasy, is put at a further disadvantage by the splendour and beauty of her appearance. She knows its influence perfectly; has studied it too well to miss a grain of its effect on any one. As she looks at him so steadily and coldly, he not only feels conscious that he has no guide, in the least perception of what is really the complexion of her thoughts; but also that he is being every moment, as it were, removed further and further from her.

She will not speak, it is plain. So he must.

“In short, your ladyship,” says Mr. Guppy, like a meanly penitent thief, “the person I was to have had the letters of, has come to a sudden end, and———” He stops. Lady Dedlock calmly finishes the sentence.

“And the letters are destroyed with the person?”

Mr. Guppy would say no, if he could—as he is unable to hide.

“I believe so, your ladyship.”

If he could see the least sparkle of relief in her face now? No, he could see no such thing, even if that brave outside did not utterly put him away, and he were not looking beyond it and about it.

He falters an awkward excuse or two for his failure.

“Is this all you have to say?” inquires Lady Dedlock, having heard him out—or as nearly out as he can stumble. Mr. Guppy thinks that's all.

“You had better be sure that you wish to say nothing more to me; this being the last time you will have the opportunity.”

Mr. Guppy is quite sure. And indeed he has no such wish at present, by any means.

“That is enough. I will dispense with excuses. Good evening to you!” and she rings for Mercury to show the young man of the name of Guppy out.