He ran his eye carelessly over it, until he reached the final lines: "Come to-morrow, and help us to receive Mrs.Glenarm." For a while he paused, with his eye fixed on that sentence; and with the happiness of three people--of Anne, who had loved him; of Arnold, who had served him; of Blanche, guiltless of injuring him--resting on the decision that guided his movements for the next day.

After what had passed that morning between Arnold and Blanche, if he remained at Lady Lundie's, he had no alternative but to perform his promise to Anne.

If he returned to his brother's house, he had no alternative but to desert Anne, on the infamous pretext that she was Arnold's wife.
He suddenly tossed the letter away from him on the table, and snatched a sheet of note-paper out of the writing-case.

"Here goes for Mrs.
Glenarm!" he said to himself; and wrote back to his brother, in one line: "Dear Julius, Expect me to-morrow.

G.D." The impassible man-servant stood by while he wrote, looking at his magnificent breadth of chest, and thinking what a glorious "staying-power" was there for the last terrible mile of the coming race.
"There you are!" he said, and handed his note to the man.
"All right, Geoffrey ?" asked a friendly voice behind him.
He turned--and saw Arnold, anxious for news of the consultation with Sir Patrick.
"Yes," he said.