He went with a somewhat hesitating step to the iron safe in the corner of the room and opened it.  The he opened the subdivision and rummaged about there for a while.  At last he looked up.

“It is very curious, Anne,” he said, in a half-frightened voice, “but I can’t find them.”

“George, give me those letters.”

“I can’t find them, Anne, I can’t find them.  If you don’t believe me, come and look for yourself.  Somebody must have taken them.”

She advanced and did as he said.  It was evident that the letters were not there.

“Once before when you were ill you hid them.  Where have you hidden them now?”

“I haven’t hidden them, Anne; I haven’t, indeed.”

She turned slowly and looked him full in the eyes.  Her own face was ashy pale with fury, but she said never a word.  Her silence was more terrible than words.  Then she raised her hands and covered her eyes for a while.  Presently she dropped them, and said, in a singularly soft voice,

“It is over now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, fearfully, for she terrified him.

“I mean a great deal, George Caresfoot.  I mean that something has snapped the bond which bound me to you.  I mean that I no longer fear you, that I have done with you.  Use your letters, if you will, you can harm me no more; I have passed out of the region of your influence, out of the reach of your revenge.  I look on you now and wonder what the link was between us, for there was a mysterious link.  That I cannot tell.  But this I can tell you.  I have let go your hand, and you are going to fall down a great precipice, George, a precipice of which I cannot see the foot.  Yes, it is right that you should cower before me now; I have cowered before you for more than twenty years.  You made me what I am.  I am going into the next room now till my carriage comes, I did not order it till half-past ten.  Do not follow me.  But before I go I will tell you something, and you know I do not make mistakes.  You will never sleep under this roof again, George Caresfoot, and we shall not meet again alive.  You have had a long day, but your hour has struck.”

“Who told you that, woman?” he asked, furiously.

“Last night I read it in the stars, to-night I read it in your face.”

And again she looked at him, long and steadily, as he crouched in the chair before her, and then slowly left the room.

After awhile he roused himself, and began to drink wine furiously.

“Curse her,” he said, as the fumes mounted into his brain, “curse her, she is trying to frighten me with her infernal magic, but she sha’n’t.  I know what she is at; but I will be beforehand with her.”  And, staggering under the mingled influence of drink and excitement, he rose and left the house.

Lady Bellamy sat in the drawing-room, and waited for her carriage; at last she heard the wheels upon the gravel.  Then she rose, and rapidly did something to the great lamp upon the paper-strewn table.  As she shut the door she turned.