Hurrying headlong down the stairs with but one clear idea in his mind—­the idea of instantly following his wife—­Arnold encountered Sir Patrick, standing by a table in the hall, on which cards and notes left by visitors were usually placed, with an open letter in his hand.  Seeing in an instant what had happened, he threw one of his arms round Arnold, and stopped him at the house-door.

“You are a man,” he said, firmly.  “Bear it like a man.”

Arnold’s head fell on the shoulder of his kind old friend.  He burst into tears.

Sir Patrick let the irrepressible outbreak of grief have its way.  In those first moments, silence was mercy.  He said nothing.  The letter which he had been reading (from Lady Lundie, it is needless to say), dropped unheeded at his feet.

Arnold lifted his head, and dashed away the tears.

“I am ashamed of myself,” he said.  “Let me go.”

“Wrong, my poor fellow—­doubly wrong!” returned Sir Patrick.  “There is no shame in shedding such tears as those.  And there is nothing to be done by leaving me.”

“I must and will see her!”

“Read that,” said Sir Patrick, pointing to the letter on the floor.  “See your wife?  Your wife is with the woman who has written those lines.  Read them.”

Arnold read them.

“DEAR SIR PATRICK,—­If you had honored me with your confidence, I should have been happy to consult you before I interfered to rescue Blanche from the position in which Mr. Brinkworth has placed her.  As it is, your late brother’s child is under my protection at my house in London.  If you attempt to exercise your authority, it must be by main force—­I will submit to nothing less.  If Mr. Brinkworth attempts to exercise his authority, he shall establish his right to do so (if he can) in a police-court.

“Very truly yours, JULIA LUNDIE.”

Arnold’s resolution was not to be shaken even by this.  “What do I care,” he burst out, hotly, “whether I am dragged through the streets by the police or not!  I will see my wife.  I will clear myself of the horrible suspicion she has about me.  You have shown me your letter.  Look at mine!”

Sir Patrick’s clear sense saw the wild words that Blanche had written in their true light.

“Do you hold your wife responsible for that letter?” he asked.  “I see her step-mother in every line of it.  You descend to something unworthy of you, if you seriously defend yourself against this! You can’t see it?  You persist in holding to your own view?  Write, then.  You can’t get to her—­your letter may.  No!  When you leave this house, you leave it with me.  I have conceded something on my side, in allowing you to write.  I insist on your conceding something, on your side, in return.  Come into the library!  I answer for setting things right between you and Blanche, if you will place your interests in my hands.  Do you trust me or not?”