"There, take that!" he said, folding up the paper, "and find out Miss Barham's maid directly; bid her give it to her mistress, and let me have an answer."
The valet took the note, and disappeared. Helen's toilette for the night was well nigh done, and she was on the point of seeking her bed, when she received it; and, guileless and innocent herself, without a thought of evil, she wrote underneath the lines sent by Lieberg, in pencil, "Whenever you like.--Helen Barham."
When the note was brought back, Lieberg gazed at it with a keen, triumphant look, though his cheek was pale with intense feeling.
"Do you know which is Miss Barham's room?" he said, addressing the valet.
"The one at the end of the corridor, sir," said the man; "that on the right; the opposite door leads to a store-room, I find."
"And where do you sleep yourself, Martini?" said Lieberg.
"I sleep just above Miss Barham's room, sir," replied the man.
"Get a horse early to-morrow," said Lieberg; "go over to the post-office at Doncaster, and let me have my letters before eleven."
The man bowed, and very little further conversation took place, while Lieberg undressed, and retired to bed. His last words were, "Leave the light burning."
As soon as the man was gone, Lieberg rose from his bed again, carefully cut the sheet of note-paper on which he had written to Helen in two, separating the part containing his enquiry from Helen's reply, burnt the former part, and then gazed steadfastly upon the other, repeating--"Whenever I like! whenever I like!--I like this very night!--This shall justify me;" and putting the paper into his desk, he extinguished the light, and retired to bed again, but not to sleep.