"Quite so. I wonder"—Carey rose as he spoke—"I wonder if anyone else has received one of those shameful letters? Of course should the matter go no further there is not much real harm done, though of course——"
"Whether there are other letters or not the matter is going to be thoroughly investigated," said Anstice resolutely; and Carey experienced a disturbing and quite unusual pang of regret for his own vanished youth and strength as he heard the ring of determination in the other man's voice, noted the firm set of his lips and the proud and dauntless gesture with which he threw back his head, his black eyes sparkling.
"Well, I shall follow the course of events with deep interest," he said, striving as he spoke to fight down that unworthy sensation of envy of another's superior equipment for the battle of life. "Of course I will keep my own counsel; and in a few days at latest you should know whether your enemy intends to strike again."
"It is very good of you to take an interest in the horrible affair." Anstice was really grateful. "Must you go? You haven't given me much of your company to-night."
"I must go—yes." His smile robbed the words of any discourtesy. "But don't forget to call upon me if you want any help. And for the sake of all concerned, but especially, if I may say so, for the sake of the poor lady at Cherry Orchard, I trust you may be able to clear the matter up for all the world to see."
"It is chiefly for Mrs. Carstairs' sake that I intend to do so," returned Anstice briefly. "Personally I don't care what may be said about me; but I don't mean Mrs. Carstairs to be victimized further. And if it costs me every penny I've got in the world the writer of these letters shall be brought to book!"
And Fraser Carey agreed, mentally, with Sir Richard's estimation of Mrs. Carstairs' new champion. But he went further than Sir Richard, in that he found occasion to wonder whether after all this unexpected and unwelcome repetition of the former anonymous campaign which had convulsed Littlefield might not in the end prove the salvation of the man against whom it was presumably directed.
Unlike Sir Richard, Carey was an observer of men, a student of human nature, and he had not failed to notice the increased alertness which had characterized Anstice this evening as he discussed the situation. The rather bitter, indifferent look which generally clouded his face had lifted, giving way to a brighter, more open expression; and the half melancholy cynicism which Carey had deplored had vanished before the eager determination to see an innocent and wronged woman righted in the eyes of the world.
"The man has brooded so long over what he considers to be an injustice of God that he has lost, temporarily, his sense of proportion," said Carey to himself as he trudged, rather wearily, homeward. "But if he devotes himself, as he seems anxious to do, to the service of a woman who has suffered an equal injustice, though at the hands of man this time, possibly he will forgot his own bitterness in the contemplation of her marred life. And God, who is the God of Justice, whatever scoffers may say, will bring the truth to light in His own good time. So the two tragedies may react on one another; for the lives of all of us are bound together by mysterious and undreamed-of links; and in the effort to free the soul of a woman from its bondage his own soul may well find its freedom."
But Fraser Carey was a mystic; and since the materialistic world looks with suspicion on mysticism, it is probable that even Anstice, who knew and respected him, would have heard his last speech with a passing wonder that a man should hold so unpractical and untenable a view of existence as the words would seem to imply.