Chapter XXXIII

[The Reverend Arthur Warrington thanks Paddy O’Connell for services rendered.]

The Red Farm, Beldon, Suffolk,
Eve of the Feast of St. Raphael.

Dear Mr. O’Connell,--I am much obliged by your letter and packages containing the little books you were unfortunately unable to deliver to my poor cousin. I thank you also for your friendliness towards Mrs. Warrington during her mission or charity to the great Metropolis.

That there is no further news concerning this unhappy affair distresses me greatly. The wages of sin are dreadful indeed; leading, it would appear, beyond the promises of Holy Writ to these awful mysteries this twentieth century brings before us. I have no doubt that poor Harry meant well when he married this girl; but I cannot forget that he was not blessed by Holy Church, and that he is now reaping the fruit of his indifference.

A home broken up, this dreadful suspicion hovering about his poor wife’s name--oh, my dear sir, what moral lessons do not these things convey. Let us offer him what consolation we can, remembering with the poet Shakespeare that--murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ.

I pray God that these assassins will be brought to justice speedily.--And am, with renewed thanks, my dear sir,

Yours faithfully,
Arthur Warrington.

P.S.--Would you be good enough to remind Mrs. Warrington, who in her distress may have overlooked so trifling a detail of the domestic curriculum, that the patterns of the chintz did not reach me from Smallgroves, and that she would do well to see the people about it while she is in London?