“Friday, one,” she whispered to herself; “Saturday, two; Sunday, three; Monday—­” Her hands dropped into her lap, her face stiffened again; the deadly fear fastened its paralyzing hold on her once more, and the next words died away on her lips.

Captain Wragge took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“Damn the two hundred pounds!” he said.  “Two thousand wouldn’t pay me for this!”

He put the handkerchief back, took the envelopes which he had addressed to himself out of his pocket, and, approaching her closely for the first time, laid his hand on her arm.

“Rouse yourself,” he said, “I have a last word to say to you.  Can you listen?”

She struggled, and roused herself—­a faint tinge of color stole over her white cheeks—­she bowed her head.

“Look at these,” pursued Captain Wragge, holding up the envelopes.  “If I turn these to the use for which they have been written, Mrs. Lecount’s master will never receive Mrs. Lecount’s letter.  If I tear them up, he will know by to-morrow’s post that you are the woman who visited him in Vauxhall Walk.  Say the word!  Shall I tear the envelopes up, or shall I put them back in my pocket?”

There was a pause of dead silence.  The murmur of the summer waves on the shingle of the beach and the voices of the summer idlers on the Parade floated through the open window, and filled the empty stillness of the room.

She raised her head; she lifted her hand and pointed steadily to the envelopes.

“Put them back,” she said.

“Do you mean it?” he asked.

“I mean it.”

As she gave that answer, there was a sound of wheels on the road outside.

“You hear those wheels?” said Captain Wragge.

“I hear them.”

“You see the chaise?” said the captain, pointing through the window as the chaise which had been ordered from the inn made its appearance at the garden gate.

“I see it.”

“And, of your own free-will, you tell me to go?”

“Yes.  Go!”

Without another word he left her.  The servant was waiting at the door with his traveling bag.  “Miss Bygrave is not well,” he said.  “Tell your mistress to go to her in the parlor.”

He stepped into the chaise, and started on the first stage of the journey to St. Crux.

CHAPTER XII.

TOWARD three o’clock in the afternoon Captain Wragge stopped at the nearest station to Ossory which the railway passed in its course through Essex.  Inquiries made on the spot informed him that he might drive to St. Crux, remain there for a quarter of an hour, and return to the station in time for an evening train to London.  In ten minutes more the captain was on the road again, driving rapidly in the direction of the coast.

After proceeding some miles on the highway, the carriage turned off, and the coachman involved himself in an intricate network of cross-roads.