He laid himself down on the grass, and gave his mind to the serious question.  How to address Anne as “Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth?” and how to make sure of her receiving the letter?

The dumb old woman got in his way again.

He closed his eyes impatiently, and tried to shut her out in a darkness of his own making.

The woman showed herself through the darkness.  He saw her, as if he had just asked her a question, writing on her slate.  What she wrote he failed to make out.  It was all over in an instant.  He started up, with a feeling of astonishment at himself—­and, at the same moment his brain cleared with the suddenness of a flash of light.  He saw his way, without a conscious effort on his own part, through the difficulty that had troubled him.  Two envelopes, of course:  an inner one, unsealed, and addressed to “Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth;” an outer one, sealed, and addressed to “Mrs. Silvester:”  and there was the problem solved!  Surely the simplest problem that had ever puzzled a stupid head.

Why had he not seen it before?  Impossible to say.

How came he to have seen it now?

The dumb old woman reappeared in his thoughts—­as if the answer to the question lay in something connected with her.

He became alarmed about himself, for the first time in his life.  Had this persistent impression, produced by nothing but a crazy old woman, any thing to do with the broken health which the surgeon had talked about?  Was his head on the turn?  Or had he smoked too much on an empty stomach, and gone too long (after traveling all night) without his customary drink of ale?

He left the garden to put that latter theory to the test forthwith.  The betting would have gone dead against him if the public had seen him at that moment.  He looked haggard and anxious—­and with good reason too.  His nervous system had suddenly forced itself on his notice, without the slightest previous introduction, and was saying (in an unknown tongue), Here I am!

Returning to the purely ornamental part of the grounds, Geoffrey encountered one of the footmen giving a message to one of the gardeners.  He at once asked for the butler—­as the only safe authority to consult in the present emergency.

Conducted to the butler’s pantry, Geoffrey requested that functionary to produce a jug of his oldest ale, with appropriate solid nourishment in the shape of “a hunk of bread and cheese.”

The butler stared.  As a form of condescension among the upper classes this was quite new to him.

“Luncheon will be ready directly, Sir.”

“What is there for lunch?”

The butler ran over an appetizing list of good dishes and rare wines.

“The devil take your kickshaws!” said Geoffrey.  “Give me my old ale, and my hunk of bread and cheese.”

“Where will you take them, Sir?”

“Here, to be sure!  And the sooner the better.”