accident was this.  The squire, for some unknown reason, had returned earlier than usual, and dismounting in the stable-yard, had walked round the garden on the turf which came close to the windows of the ground floor.  Passing the drawing-room window, and looking in by the edge of the drawn-down blind, he saw his wife and Clem just at the moment described.  He slipped round to the door, took off his boots so that he might not be heard, and as there was a large screen inside the room he was able to enter it unobserved.  Clem caught sight of him just as he emerged from behind the screen, and started up instantly in great confusion, the lady, with greater presence of mind, remaining perfectly still.  Without a word the squire strode up to Clem, struck out at him, caught him just over the temple, and felled him instantaneously.  He lay for some time senseless, and what passed between husband and wife I cannot say.  After about ten minutes, perhaps, Clem came to himself; there was nobody to be seen; and he managed to get up and crawl home.  He told his wife he had met with an accident; that he would go to bed, and that she should know all about it when he was better.  His forehead was dressed, and to bed he went.  That night Mrs. Butts had a letter.  It ran as follows:-

“Madam,—­It may at first sight seem a harsh thing for me to write and tell you what I have to say, but I can assure you I do not mean to be anything but kind to you, and I think it will be better, for reasons which I will afterwards explain, that I should communicate with you rather than with your husband.  For some time past I have suspected that he was too fond of my wife, and last night I caught him with his arms round her neck.  In a moment of not unjustifiable anger I knocked him down.  I have not the honour of knowing you personally, but from what I have heard of you I am sure that he has not the slightest reason for playing with other women.  A man who will do what he has done will be very likely to conceal from you the true cause of his disaster, and if you know the cause you may perhaps be able to reclaim him.  If he has any sense of honour left in him, and of what is due to you, he will seek your pardon for his baseness, and you will have a hold on him afterwards which you would not have if you were in ignorance of what has happened.  For him I do not care a straw, but for you I feel deeply, and I believe that my frankness with you, although it may cause you much suffering now, will save you more hereafter.  I have only one condition to make.  Mr. Butts must leave this place, and never let me see his face again.  He has ruined my peace.  Nothing will be published through me, for, as far as I can prevent it, I will have no public exposure.  If Mr. Butts were to remain here it would be dangerous for us to meet, and probably everything, by some chance, would become common property.—­Believe me to be, Madam, with many assurances of respect, truly yours,—.”