The image of Lord Castlewood had crossed my mind, because the initials were his own--those of Herbert William Castlewood.

This strange coincidence--if it were, indeed, an accident--once more set me thinking.

Might not this letter be from his agent, of whom he had spoken as my protector here, but to whom as all unseen I scarcely ever gave a thought?
Might not young Stixon, who so often was at Bruntsea, be employed to call at Newport for such letters, and return with them to his master?
It was not very likely, for my cousin had the strongest contempt of anonymous doings.

Still it was possible, and the bare possibility doubled my reluctance to break the seal.
For one minute longer I stood in doubt, and then honor and candor and truth prevailed.

If any other life had been in peril but my own, duty to another might have overridden all.