“You won’t be angry with me?” said Mrs. Wragge, looking timidly at her husband through her tears.  “I want a word of comfort, captain.  Oh, do tell me, when shall I see her again?”

The captain closed the book, and answered in one inexorable word:  “Never!”

Between eleven and twelve o’clock that night Mrs. Lecount drove into Zurich.

Her brother’s house, when she stopped before it, was shut up.  With some difficulty and delay the servant was aroused.  She held up her hands in speechless amazement when she opened the door and saw who the visitor was.

“Is my brother alive?” asked Mrs. Lecount, entering the house.

“Alive!” echoed the servant.  “He has gone holiday-making into the country, to finish his recovery in the fine fresh air.”

The housekeeper staggered back against the wall of the passage.  The coachman and the servant put her into a chair.  Her face was livid, and her teeth chattered in her head.

“Send for my brother’s doctor,” she said, as soon as she could speak.

The doctor came.  She handed him a letter before he could say a word.

“Did you write that letter?”

He looked it over rapidly, and answered her without hesitation,

“Certainly not!”

“It is your handwriting.”

“It is a forgery of my handwriting.”

She rose from the chair with a new strength in her.

“When does the return mail start for Paris?” she asked.

“In half an hour.”

“Send instantly and take me a place in it!”

The servant hesitated, the doctor protested.  She turned a deaf ear to them both.

“Send!” she reiterated, “or I will go myself.”

They obeyed.  The servant went to take the place:  the doctor remained and held a conversation with Mrs. Lecount.  When the half-hour had passed, he helped her into her place in the mail, and charged the conductor privately to take care of his passenger.

“She has traveled from England without stopping,” said the doctor; “and she is traveling back again without rest.  Be careful of her, or she will break down under the double journey.”

The mail started.  Before the first hour of the new day was at an end
Mrs. Lecount was on her way back to England.

THE END OF THE FOURTH SCENE.

BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.

I.

From George Bartram to Noel Vanstone.

“St. Crux, September 4th, 1847.

“MY DEAR NOEL—­Here are two plain questions at starting.  In the name of all that is mysterious, what are you hiding for?  And why is everything relating to your marriage kept an impenetrable secret from your oldest friends?

“I have been to Aldborough to try if I could trace you from that place, and have come back as wise as I went.  I have applied to your lawyer in London, and have been told, in reply, that you have forbidden him to disclose the place of your retreat to any one without first receiving your permission to do so.  All I could prevail on him to say was, that he would forward any letter which might be sent to his care.  I write accordingly, and mind this, I expect an answer.