She dispelled the question unanswered, and at once another took its place. The unsigned letter she had received, the threat it contained, the identity of the writer, what of all that? Her future husband had not even referred to it again. Could he have forgotten it in the ardor of his wooing?
As so often happens between people in close sympathy, the thought, as it came to her, flashed at once into his brain.
“I have been carefully considering,” he said suddenly, “the matter you came to me about, and that has led indirectly to our engagement. You have nothing now to fear from that, my darling. The scoundrel who sent the letter can do her worst. Let her write to all your friends. Let her tell them what she chooses. If she does, and they talk in consequence, what can it matter to us? It will not affect my love for you, or your love for me, will it? And what else is there that matters? In point of fact, when she reads or hears of our engagement, as undoubtedly she soon will, she will, I suspect, let the matter drop. Or she will write to me, thinking I know nothing.”
“Then you still believe, dear, the writer to be a woman?”
“I feel convinced it must be, though, as I told you, she may have a male accomplice. But already I have set in motion the machinery which I hope will lead her unwittingly to reveal herself. We ought to hear something in a week or two.”
They were now back at the hotel, and there they dined. Cora was trembling with excitement at all that had occurred. It all seemed so wonderful. That she should, quite by chance, have read in the newspaper of Doctor Johnson’s arrival; that the unsigned letter should have come about that time; that she should have thought of asking his advice; that he should have interested himself in the matter; that their friendship should have ripened so quickly into love, and have ended as it had done!
Out in the night the moon was shining brightly. It lit up the bay with a single streak of silver, which extended far out across the sea to where the lighthouses were winking along the coast. And the atmosphere was as warm as in the tropics.
“Must we go back to St. Helier now?” she inquired in a strained voice, as they rose to go out. “I feel to-night as if I could never sleep again.”
“And you need not sleep again,” he answered with a smile, taking her hand in his, “at least until you want to. We are returning to St. Helier, but not by the way we came. I said when we came out we would go right round the island, but then I did not know what was going to happen. We will telephone to the friends with whom you are staying, and you can speak to them. You can tell them as little or as much as you like of what has befallen you to-night. And you can say that you do not expect to be home before midnight, or possibly even later. It should be the most delightful drive either of us has ever had.”
Slowly the car passed up the narrow lane which led from the hotel. At the top it turned into a wider road which branched off to the left.