"
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very good, I shall wait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda
was down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands out-stretched,
her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a frenzy
of supplication. "For Heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love
him so! I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I
know would break his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you have
come to your senses even at this last moment! There is not an
instant to lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out
a long blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to Heaven I had never seen it!"
"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick,
we must think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?"
"Still in his bedroom."
"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!"
A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand.
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