Derrick and I breakfasted in the great dining-hall; and one morning, when the meal was over, we, as usual, strolled into the drawing-room to see if there were any letters awaiting us.
"One for you," I remarked, handing him a thick envelope.
"From Lawrence!" he exclaimed.
"Well, don't read it in here; the Doctor will be coming to read prayers.
Come out in the garden," I said.
We went out into the beautiful grounds, and he tore open the envelope and began to read his letter as we walked.

All at once I felt the arm which was linked in mine give a quick, involuntary movement, and, looking up, saw that Derrick had turned deadly pale.
"What's up ?" I said.

But he read on without replying; and, when I paused and sat down on a sheltered rustic seat, he unconsciously followed my example, looking more like a sleep-walker than a man in the possession of all his faculties.

At last he finished the letter, and looked up in a dazed, miserable way, letting his eyes wander over the fir-trees and the fragrant shrubs and the flowers by the path.
"Dear old fellow, what is the matter ?" I asked.
The words seemed to rouse him.
A dreadful look passed over his face--the look of one stricken to the heart.

But his voice was perfectly calm, and full of a ghastly self-control.
"Freda will be my sister-in-law," he said, rather as if stating the fact to himself than answering my question.
"Impossible!" I said.