"Cyrus Whitaker."
"Burn this letter," said Kelvin to Pod, when he had read it through twice. When he had seen it shrivelled into ashes, he lay back on his pillows, thinking, and neither stirred nor spoke till Miss Deane came into the room, some quarter o f an hour afterwards.
"Olive," he said, but without turning his eyes towards her, "I feel more thirsty than usual this morning. If you have any barley-water ready-made, I should like you to get me some."
She smiled, and went without a word. Five minutes later, she came back with a small jug and a glass.
"Will you take a little of it now?" she asked.
"Yes, just a little, and then you can put the things on the table within reach." After she had given him a little of the barley-water, he said, "Piper and I have rather a heavy lot of papers to wade through this morning, so, while we are finishing them, I wish you would just step round to the library and get me that book of travels we were talking about last night; or if that one is not at home, some other: you know the sort I like."
As soon as Olive had left the room, Kelvin turned to Pod. "You have got a bottle in your pocket, I suppose?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Then pour that barley-water into it, and cork it up tightly."
When this was done, Pod lighted a taper, and Kelvin sealed up the bottle with his own trembling fingers, and stamped it with the monogram of his ring. Then the bottle went back into Pod's pocket.