night, greeted him as a benignant welcome. He bummed a tune
cheerfully as he climbed the stairs, and was smiling genially when
he entered the massive study.

He poured out a liqueur and stood sipping it as he turned over the
letters brought by the night's post. One arrested him. It had been
delivered by hand, and was marked "Most Urgent." He lit a cigar and
tore open the envelope. As he read the letter every vestige of
colour left his face. He sank into a chair: the letter slipped from
his fingers. All his dreams had vanished in a moment. His house of
cards had toppled down. His ambitions were surely and positively
destroyed at one stroke. He mechanically picked up the letter and
re-read it. Had it been his death-sentence it could not have
affected him more cruelly.

"Dear Nathaniel: I scarcely know how to write to you about what has
happened. I am afraid I am in some small measure to blame. Ten days
ago your sister showed me a letter from a man named O'Connell--
[Kingsnorth crushed the letter in his hand as he read the hated
name--the name of the man who had caused him so much discomfort
during that unfortunate visit to his estate in Ireland. How he
blamed himself now for having ever gone there. There was indeed a
curse on it for the Kingsnorths. He straightened out the crumpled
piece of paper and read on]:--a man named O'Connell--the man she
nursed in your house in Ireland after he had been shot by the
soldiers. He was coming to England and wished to see her. She asked
my permission. I reasoned with her--but she was decided. If I should
not permit her to see him in my house she would meet him elsewhere.
It seemed better the meeting should be under my roof, so I
consented. I bitterly reproach myself now for not acquainting you