"Yes." Miriam suppressed her voice, and held out the sheet of note-paper, which fluttered. "Read it."
The body of the letter was as follows:—
"I hope we have caused you no anxiety; from the first moment when our departure was known, you must have understood that we had resolved to put an end to useless delay. We travelled to London as brother and sister, and to-day have become man and wife. The above will be our address for a short time; we have not yet decided where we shall ultimately live.
"By this same post I write to Mallard, addressed to him at the villa. I hope he has had the good sense to wait quietly for news.
"Cecily sends her love to you—though she half fears that you will reject it. I cannot see why you should. We have done the only sensible thing, and of course in a month or two it will be just the same, to everybody concerned, as if we had been married in the most foolish way that respectability can contrive. Let us hear from you very soon, dear sister. We talk much of you, and hope to have many a bright day with you yet—more genuinely happy than that we spent in tracking out old Tiberius."
Eleanor looked up, and again was struck with the singular light in her cousin's eyes.
"Well, it only tells us what we anticipated. Of course he made false declarations. If Mr. Mallard were really as grim as he sometimes looks, the result to both of them might be unpleasant."
"But the marriage could not be undone?" Miriam asked quickly.
"Oh no. Scarcely desirable that it should be."
Miriam took the letter, and in a few minutes went back again to her room.