I will ride into Bryndermere myself." Pottinger was in the mare's stall, and Mause stopped him as he was coming forward, by saying: "Don't trouble; I'll take the letters from the wallet." With Stafford's letter amongst her own in her pocket, she went quickly, and yet without apparent hurry, to her own room, sent away her maid on an errand, and slipped the bolt in the door.

Rapidly she lit her silver spirit-lamp and heated the water almost to boiling-point, and held the envelope of Stafford's letter over it until the gum was melted and the flap came open.

Then she took out the letter, and, throwing herself back in an easy-chair, read it slowly.
At first, as she read, her face burned, then it grew pale, and still paler; every word of the bitter farewell, of the renunciation, written as if with a man's heart's blood, stabbed her and tortured her with the pangs of jealousy.

Once she started to her feet, her hands clenched, her head thrown back her eyes flashing; a superb figure--the tigress aroused.

At that instant she was minded to take the letter and fling it in Stafford's face, and with it fling back the pledge which he had given her the night before; then she collapsed, as it were, and sank into a chair, dropping the letter and covering her face with her hands.
She could not.