Mallow shook his head. "I thought of that myself," he said, "but it does not help us in any way."
"It certainly cannot assist us towards circumventing this wedding. I see you are going to it," running his eye over Jim.
"Of course. There is an invitation for you also, if you care to accept it."
"I do not are to," replied Mallow, quietly. "It is quite painful enough for me to be here on the day of the sacrifice, without attending it."
"Then why did you come, my poor old chap?"
"Because I wish you to take this letter and deliver it personally to----" Mallow paused, "to--Mrs.--Carson," he finished, slowly.
With some hesitation Lord Aldean took the envelope extended to him. He was doubtful. "I hope it does not contain reproaches," he said.
"No; it merely sets her mind at rest about--about--her husband" (Mallow could hardly get the word out), "and tells her that, if she needs me, I am always ready to do her bidding."
"Well," said Jim, placing the letter in his pocket, "I'll deliver it with the greatest of pleasure. It is not unlikely that she will need you some day."
"Oh, I don't mean anything in particular," he said carelessly. "You know I neither like nor trust Carson."
"I am quite with you," said Mallow, bitterly; "but, unfortunately, neither our dislike nor our distrust can assist us to avert this ceremony."
"No, that's true. What will be will be;" and with this morsel of philosophy they parted--Aldean for the ceremony at the church; Mallow to rail at fate for having so cruelly deprived him of Olive.
It was not until after the breakfast that Aldean found any opportunity of delivering Mallow's note to Olive. As he slipped it into her hand she flushed crimson, guessing instinctively from whom it came. With a grateful glance at Aldean, she ran upstairs and hastily tore it open. It contained only a few lines, "Forget what I said in my anger about your husband. He is truly Angus Carson, and I pray heaven that you may be happy with him. But if in trouble you should need a friend, remember that I claim the right to serve you."
The lines were unsigned and ill-written. Olive sat with them crushed in her hand, the tears falling down her face. Tui discreetly held her tongue, for she had guessed that the letter was from Mallow. She roused Olive to action, whilst the maid busied herself with her mistress's clothes. A frown on her face and dark circles under her eyes, Clara seemed little less sorrowful than her mistress.