Her last thoughts had been of gratitude to Mr.Carlyle: but she had more cause to be grateful to him than she yet knew of.

Emotion soon spent itself, and, as her eyes cleared, she saw a bit of crumpled paper lying on her lap, which appeared to have fallen from her hand.

Mechanically she took it up and opened it; it was a bank-note for one hundred pounds.
Ah, reader! You will say that this is a romance of fiction, and a far-fetched one, but it is verily and indeed true.

Mr.Carlyle had taken it with him to East Lynne, that morning, with its destined purpose.
Lady Isabel strained her eyes, and gazed at the note--gazed and gazed again.

Where could it have come from?
What had brought it there?
Suddenly the undoubted truth flashed upon her; Mr.Carlyle had left it in her hand.
Her cheeks burned, her fingers trembled, her angry spirit rose up in arms.