any such note as that, Mr. Godfrey. Where did it come from?”
“Is it in your handwriting?”
“Why, yes,” she answered, looking at it more closely. “That is, it is something like. Oh! I begin to see!” she cried, and I saw her seized with a sudden convulsive shuddering.
“Yes,” said Godfrey, “it was a pretty plot. This note lured him from the house, and kept him away until the storm came up and he was forced to abandon the hope of meeting you. He concluded that you were playing with him—when he returned to the house, he found that you had spent the evening with Tremaine—afterwards, in his room, he did a number of violent and foolish things. Finally, he determined to go away; he started to pack his belongings—and then, in the hall, you, as he thought, added insult to injury by asking him to tell”
She stopped him with a wild gesture.
“Oh, I must see him!” she cried. “Something must be done”
“Something shall be done,” Godfrey assured her, rising. “The real culprit shall be in custody to-night.”
“The real culprit?” The words arrested her attention.
“Who but Tremaine?”
“Tremaine? But he was in the house—as you know, I talked with him for a long time.”
“In the same vein?”
She coloured a little at the tone. “Yes,” she answered, “You will, perhaps, think
