CHAPTER XXX — THE ENVELOPE

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      A week later, when Vivian Sheriff received her third anonymous letter, she took counsel with her familiar companion—Fear.

      He had attached himself to her, probably from an impulse of loyalty—since it was she who was responsible for his introduction to the village, where he had enjoyed such marvellous social success.

      The spirit of self-confident levity which had prevailed at Miss Corner's tea-party was akin to a new broom, chasing every shadow from the corners. It was only after Vivian had suddenly quailed at her memory of an old indiscretion—so that she tried to establish a pact of self-protection—that the black flicker had shot through the sunlit room.

      As Vivian sat at the breakfast-table, biting her lips over the letter, Mrs. Sheriff looked at her anxiously. She noticed that her daughter had lost some of her colour, and that there were violet shadows under her eyes.

      Although excitement might be responsible for her washed-out appearance, there was no doubt that Vivian had lost her spring. Her engagement represented the peak of her ambition, and yet she was unable to find pleasure in answering the crop of congratulatory letters which had poured in since the formal announcements to the Press.

      As a matter-of-fact, she was worried to death. Fear had become the mainspring of the daily round. She was not so much afraid for her own future, since her commonsense refused to submit to panic. But she was overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility.

      Although she was of somewhat shallow disposition, she was both conscientious and serious. Mrs. Scudamore's death had been a bad blow to her, for she had always preferred the company of older women, partly because of the lack of competition, and partly because her mind was less flexible than that of the average girl.

      The lawyer's wife had been her model and inspiration; and after the first shock of the exposure, she felt a sense of personal loss.

      Although she was then guiltless of keeping back important evidence, the arrival of the first letter had changed the position. She believed that she—alone—had a clue as to the writer. But while she would not hesitate to sun-bathe publicly, in the penultimate shred, she shrank from any advertisement of her private affairs.

      Fear sat beside her as she read the printed warning, and looked over her shoulder.

      "There may be someone else in the village who has received a letter, today," it hinted. "If you don't speak, someone else may turn on the gas."

      Give the devil his due—Fear worked to good purpose that day; for even while he achieved his own object of making Vivian's heart flutter and her lips pale, she suddenly sprang to her feet—her blue eyes glazed with desperate resolution.

      Her mother looked at her with rather a scared expression; Fear was wholesale in his attentions to ladies, and had spent some of his time in the company of Mrs. Sheriff. She could not forget those terrible inhibitions of which Miss Corner had hinted.

      "Where are you going, Vivian?" she asked.

      "To see the Rector, Mother."

      "I wouldn't tell him too much."

      As Vivian stared at her in surprise, she attempted a confused explanation.

      "I thought, perhaps, you wanted some spiritual advice about marriage. I don't think that part of it should be neglected. And when you talk to a clergyman, you're led on to say more than you mean."

      "Thank you for the hint," smiled Vivian. "I'm only going to stagger him with my guilty Past."

      Leaving her mother reassured by her statement, Vivian drove her car under the flickering green shadow of the lane, until she reached the mouth of the chestnut tunnel, which she used as her parking-station. By means of this precaution, she took the Rector and Ignatius, by surprise, as they sat and smoked the first pipe of the day under the cedar.

      As the Rector went to meet her, she looked up at him in helpless appeal.

      "I'm frightfully early. But I couldn't help it. I—"

      He tried to encourage her with his smile.

      "Have you come about the Banns? Or do you want a Special Licence?"

      "No, no, nothing like that. It's private."

      The Rector's face changed.

      "Shall we come to my study?" he asked, glancing at Ignatius.

      "No. Mr. Brown can hear what I have to say."

      Ignatius, who was studying her, rather admired her self-control. Her small white form was lost in the depths of the big 'Varsity chair; but although she looked fragile as a convolvulus, her face was composed and her hands were still.

      "It's not easy to explain," she said. "But I've had three anonymous letters."

      "And, of course, you've burned them all?" broke in Ignatius venomously.

      "Of course...The awful part is that I'm afraid I know who wrote them. Naturally, I don't like even to think it, much less tell anyone else."

      "But it is your duty," said the Rector gravely. "We have had one tragedy. At all costs, we must prevent another."

      "I know. That's what frightens me. If I don't speak, it might be murder."

      Vivian clasped her hands tightly and apparently went off at a tangent.

      "You remember the War? When sometimes there wasn't time to get married, so one got carried away...Well, it didn't happen to me. I want you to remember that. After he was killed, I was sorry I hadn't the same pluck other girls had. It was wicked of me, but I was...But now, everything's different. Supposing I had. You can imagine what my feelings would be now. I should be mad with fear of exposure. But, because I nearly did, I can understand why Mrs. Scudamore killed herself...So I know what these letters would mean to someone who had."

      "One minute, Miss Sheriff," broke in Ignatius. "Are we to understand that you are threatened with exposure of some trifling indiscretion?"

      "Yes, an indiscretion." Vivian clutched at the word. "I'll tell you everything."

      She took rather a long time to tell them about the visits to the bungalow, and its sequel, because of her insistence on the frigidly correct behaviour of young Belson and herself.

      "We were not even