"What do you want here?"

Geoffrey's letter represented the only possible excuse for Arnold's
appearance in that place, and at that time.

"I have got a letter for you," he said--and offered it to her.

She was instantly on her guard. They were little better than strangers
to each other, as Arnold had said. A sickening presentiment of some
treachery on Geoffrey's part struck cold to her heart. She refused to
take the letter.

"I expect no letter," she said. "Who told you I was here?" She put
the question, not only with a tone of suspicion, but with a look of
contempt. The look was not an easy one for a man to bear. It required
a momentary exertion of self-control on Arnold's part, before he could
trust himself to answer with due consideration for her. "Is there a
watch set on my actions?" she went on, with rising anger. "And are _you_
the spy?"

"You haven't known me very long, Miss Silvester," Arnold answered,
quietly. "But you ought to know me better than to say that. I am the
bearer of a letter from Geoffrey."

She was an the point of following his example, and of speaking of
Geoffrey by his Christian name, on her side. But she checked herself,
before the word had passed her lips.

"Do you mean Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, coldly.