“Now, mark my words, one and the same villain has put that dead man’s hand and arm in the river, and has stopped my letters to Grace; I am sure of it.  So what I want you to do is, first of all, to see my darling, and tell her I am alive and well, and then put her on her guard against deceivers.

“I suspect the postman has been tampered with.  I write to Mr. Ransome to look into that.  But what you might learn for me is, whether any body lately has had any opportunity to stop letters addressed to ’Woodbine Villa.’  That seems to point to Mr. Carden, and he was never a friend of mine.  But, somehow, I don’t think he would do it.

“You see, I ask myself two questions.  Is there any man in the world who has a motive strong enough to set him tampering with my letters? and, again, is there any man base enough to do such an act?  And the answer to both questions is the same.  I have a rival, and he is base enough for any thing.  Judge for yourself.  I as good as saved that Coventry’s life one snowy night, and all I asked in return was that he wouldn’t blow me to the Trades, and so put my life in jeopardy.  He gave his word of honor he wouldn’t.  But he broke his word.  One day, when Grotait and I were fast friends, and never thought to differ again, Grotait told me this Coventry was the very man that came to him and told him where I was working.  Such a lump of human dirt as that—­for you can’t call him a man—­must be capable of any thing.”

Here the reading of the letter was interrupted by an incident.

There was on the toilet-table a stiletto, with a pearl handle.  It was a small thing, but the steel rather long, and very bright and pointed.

The unfortunate bride, without lifting her head from the table, had reached out her hand, and was fingering this stiletto.  Jael Dence went and took it gently away, and put it out of reach.  The bride went on fingering, as if she had still got hold of it.

Amboyne exchanged an approving glance with Jael, and Raby concluded the letter.

“I shall be home in a few days after this; and, if I find my darling well and happy, there’s no great harm done.  I don’t mind my own trouble and anxiety, great as they are, but if any scoundrel has made her unhappy, or made her believe I am dead, or false to my darling, by God, I’ll kill him, though I hang for it next day!”

Crushed, benumbed, and broken as Grace Coventry was, this sentence seemed to act on her like an electric shock.

She started wildly up.  “What! my Henry die like a felon—­for a villain like him, and an idiot like me!  You won’t allow that; nor you—­nor I.”

A soft step came to the door, and a gentle tap.

“Who is that?” said Dr. Amboyne.

“The bridegroom,” replied a soft voice.

“You can’t come in here,” said Raby, roughly.

“Open the door,” said the bride.

Jael went to the door, but looked uncertain.