of medical advice) to receive letters.  “You may have heard of Sandyseal,” the Captain wrote, “as one of the places which have lately been found out by the doctors.  They are recommending the air to patients suffering from nervous disorders all over England.  The one hotel in the place, and the few cottages which let lodgings, are crammed, as I hear, and the speculative builder is beginning his operations at such a rate that Sandyseal will be no longer recognizable in a few months more.  Before the crescents and terraces and grand hotels turn the town into a fashionable watering-place, I want to take a last look at scenes familiar to me under their old aspect.  If you are inclined to wonder at my feeling such a wish as this, I can easily explain myself.  Two miles inland from Sandyseal, there is a lonely old moated house.  In that house I was born.  When you return from America, write to me at the post-office, or at the hotel (I am equally well known in both places), and let us arrange for a speedy meeting.  I wish I could ask you to come and see me in my birth-place.  It was sold, years since, under instructions in my father’s will, and was purchased for the use of a community of nuns.  We may look at the outside, and we can do no more.  In the meantime, don’t despair of my recovery; the sea is my old friend, and my trust is in God’s mercy.”

These last lines were added in a postscript: 

“Have you heard any more of that poor girl, the daughter of my old friend Roderick Westerfield—­whose sad story would never have been known to me but for you?  I feel sure that you have good reasons for not telling me the name of the man who has misled her, or the address at which she may be found.  But you may one day be at liberty to break your silence.  In that case, don’t hesitate to do so because there may happen to be obstacles in my way.  No difficulties discourage me, when my end in view is the saving of a soul in peril.”

Randal returned to his desk to write to the Captain.  He had only got as far as the first sentences, when the servant returned with the lawyer’s promised message.  Mr. Sarrazin’s news was communicated in these cheering terms: 

“I am a firmer believer in luck than ever.  If we only make haste—­and won’t I make haste!—­we may get the Divorce, as I calculate, in three weeks’ time.”

Chapter XXX.

The Lord President.

Mrs. Linley’s application for a Divorce was heard in the first division of the Court of Session at Edinburgh, the Lord President being the judge.

To the disappointment of the large audience assembled, no defense was attempted on the part of the husband—­a wise decision, seeing that the evidence of the wife and her witnesses was beyond dispute.  But one exciting incident occurred toward the close of the proceedings.  Sudden illness made Mrs. Linley’s removal necessary, at the moment of all others most interesting to herself—­the moment before the judge’s decision was announced.