"Then stay," he said, "and we will have no more misunderstandings."

The next evening, as he sat alone in the parlor, a servant brought to
him a letter, the superscription of which made him reel, as if he
would have fallen to the floor. It was nearly four years since he had
seen that handwriting--he had hoped never to look upon it again--but
it was there before his eyes, and she who wrote that letter was coming
to Riverside--"would be there in a few days, Providence permitting. Do
not commit suicide on my account," she wrote, "for I care as little as
yourself to have our secret divulged, and unless I find that you are
after other _prey_, I shall keep my own counsel."

The letter dropped from his nerveless fingers--the objects in the room
swam before his eyes, and like one on whom a crushing weight has
fallen, he sat bewildered, until the voice of Rosamond aroused him,
and fleeing to his chamber he locked the door, and then sat down to
think. She was coming to Riverside, and wherefore? He did not wish for
a reconciliation now--he would rather live there just as he was, with
Rosamond.

"Nothing will escape her," he said; "those basilisk eyes will see
everything--will ferret out my love for that fair young girl. Oh,
Heaven, _is_ there no escape!"

He heard the voice of Anna Lawrie in the yard. She was coming for
Rosamond's decision, and quick as thought he rang the bell, bidding
the servant who appeared to send Miss Leyton to him.

"Rosamond," he said, when she came to the door, "I have changed my
mind. You must go to the Springs."