dreaded to have these letters brought before his eyes a second time.

He was also throwing the envelope aside, when he discovered that it
contained yet another slip of paper. The writing on this was not
Emma's: the letters were cramped and not easy to decipher.

'Dear Richard, come to London and see me. I want to speak to you, I
must speak to you. I can't have very long to live, and I _must_,
_must_ see you.

'JANE VINE.'

This too he threw into the fire. His lips were hard set, his eyes
wide. And almost immediately he prepared to leave the house.

It was early, but he felt that he must go to the Walthams'. He had
promised Mrs. Waltham to refrain from visiting the house for a week,
but that promise it was impossible to keep. Jane's words were
ringing in his ears: he seemed to hear her very voice calling and
beseeching. So far from changing his purpose, it impelled him in the
course he had chosen. There must and should be an end of this
suspense.

Mrs. Waltham had just come downstairs from her conversation with
Adela, when she saw Mutimer approaching the door. She admitted him
herself. Surely Providence was on her side; she felt almost young in
her satisfaction.

Richard remained in the house about twenty minutes. Then he walked
down to the works as usual.