She went to the window once and looked out.  It promised to be a wild night.  Far away in the south-west lay a great cumulus of rugged clouds from which dark streamers radiated over the sky, like the advance guard of an army.  Here and there a pale star twinkled dimly out through the rifts, but the greater part of the heavens was black and threatening.  It was so dark that she could no longer see the sea, but the crashing, booming sound of the great waves filled the air and the salt spray came driving in through the open window.  She shut it and resumed her seat by the fire, shivering partly from cold and partly from some vague presentiment of evil.

An hour or more had passed when she heard a step upon the stairs and a knock came to her door.  It was Rebecca, with a cup of tea upon a tray and some bread-and-butter.  Kate was grateful at this attention, for it saved her from having to go down to the dining-room and face Ezra and his unpleasant-looking companion.  Rebecca laid down the tray, and then, to her mistress’s surprise, turned back and shut the door.  The girl’s face was very pale, and her manner was wild and excited.

“Here’s a note for you,” she said.  “It was given Mrs. Jorrocks to give you, but I am better at climbing stairs than she is, so I brought it up.”  She handed Kate a little slip of paper as she spoke.

A note for her!  Could it be that her friends had arrived and had managed to send a message to her?  It must be so.  She took it from the maid.  As she did so she noticed that the other’s hands were shaking as though she had the ague.  “You are not well, Rebecca,” said Kate kindly.  “Oh yes, I am.  You read your note and don’t mind me,” the girl answered, in her usual surly fashion.  Instead of leaving the room, she was bustling about the bed as though putting things in order.

Kate’s impatience was too great to allow her to wait, so she untwisted the paper, which had no seal or fastening.  She had hoped in her heart to see the name of her lover at the end of it.  Instead of that, her eye fell upon the signature of Ezra Girdlestone.  What could he have to say to her?  She moved the solitary candle on to the mantelpiece, and read the following note, roughly scribbled upon a coarse piece of paper:—­

    “MY DEAR MISS HARSTON.”

“I am afraid your confinement here has been very irksome to you.  I have repeatedly requested my father to alleviate or modify it, but he has invariably refused.  As he still persists in his refusal, I wish to offer you my aid, and, to show you that I am your sincere friend in spite of all that has passed, it you could slip out to-night at nine o’clock and meet me by the withered oak at the head of the avenue, I shall see you safe to Bedsworth, and you can, if you wish, go on to Portsmouth by the next train.  I shall manage so that you may find the door open by that time.  I shall not, of course, go to Portsmouth with you, but shall return here after dropping you at the station.  I do this small thing to show you that, hopeless as it may be, the affection which I bear you is still as deep as ever.”

    “Yours,”