seem idiotic to an outsider, but to Fenella and myself it might mean much."
The two men sat silent awhile, and then Castleton asked softly:
"I suppose it may be taken for granted that Lady Francis never got the letter?"
"I take it, it is so; but it is no matter now, I refused to speak with her just before I met you. I did not know then what I know now—and she will never speak to me again." He sighed as he spoke, and turned away. Then he went to the rail of the yacht and leaned over with his head down, looking into the still blue water beneath him.
"Poor old Frank!" said Castleton to himself. "I can't but think that this matter may come right yet. I must find out what became of that letter, in case Lady Francis never got it. It would prove to her that Frank——"
His train of thought suddenly stopped. A new idea seemed to strike him so forcibly that it quite upset him. Onslow, who had come over from the rail, noticed it. "I say, Castleton, what is wrong with you? You have got quite white about the gills."
"Nothing—nothing," he answered hastily. "I am subject to it. They call it heart. Pardon me for a bit. I'll go to my bunk and lie down," and he went below.
In truth, he was overwhelmed by the thought
