"Well," said Graves, "I'll try what I can do; but, after all, I'd as lief you left the letter till to-morrow. Leave it till to-morrow."
"To-morrow! No; who can tell what to-morrow may bring? No; I cannot wait. Graves, I feel as if I should go mad, unless I hear soon if Mr. Travers is angry, and has cast me off."
"You may be sure he has not done that, my dear; you may be at rest on that score."
"How can I rest? Well, he must be told about my father--my _father_! I Do you think he has found it out, and that this keeps him away?"
"Hark! there's a ring! Run down--run down, and see who it is! Run, Graves!"
Graves departed, glad to be released, and returned presently:
"The boy that came the night the man"--Graves corrected herself--"the gentleman, Mr. Mainwaring, was dying. He has a message for you."
"I will come down and see him. He shall take this letter to King Street. He shall wait and bring me an answer. I shall meet no one on the stairs. Let me pass you."
Brian Bellis was standing in the entrance-hall, and Griselda went eagerly towards him:
"I have taken Norah home to my aunt's house. I've had a piece of work to do it; but they will keep her till after the funeral. He is to be buried to-morrow afternoon. I thought you would like to know this, madam."
"Yes--yes," Griselda said; "and I will reward you for your care of Norah."
"I want no reward, madam," Brian said quickly. "Have you any commands?--for it is late. The actors at the theatre have subscribed for the burial; but----"
"Not enough--I understand. Follow me upstairs--gently--softly," she said, as she led the way to a small room at the head of the stairs where Graves worked.
Griselda pointed to the door; and then going to her own room on the upper story, she took up the letter she had at last written to Leslie Travers, and the packet of money she had sealed for Graves to take to Crown Alley. When she rejoined Brian, she said:
"I entrust you with these two packets. I had them ready. The money is for the--for my sister. Let her have decent black, and proper mourning; and there are two guineas for the funeral of--her father. But," Griselda said, with a strange pang of self-reproach she could not have defined, as she felt how little the death of her father and her sister's sorrow weighed in the balance against an aching fear and anxiety about Mr. Travers--"but this letter I want you to put into the hands of Mr. Leslie Travers in King Street. For this--oh! I would reward you in any way that you desire. Bring me an answer back, and I will owe you eternal gratitude. Do you hear?"