Vincent rushed away in the direction she indicated, at a pace which he was totally unused to, and of course quite unable to keep up beyond the first heat; but few things could be more hopeless than to dash into the whirl of vehicles in the crowded current of the New Road, with any vain hope of identifying one which had ten minutes start, and no more distinctive mark of identity than the spectrum of a blue veil. He rushed back again, angry with himself for losing breath in so vain an attempt, just in time to place his mother in a carriage and jump in beside her before the train started. Mrs. Vincents anxiety, her questions which he could not hear, her doubts whether it might not have been best to have missed the train and followed Mr. Fordham, aggravated the muchtried patience of her son beyond endurance. They set off upon their sad journey with a degree of injured feeling on both sides, such as often gives a miserable complication to a mutual anxiety. But the mother, wounded and timid, feeling more than ever the difference between the boy who was all her own and the man who had thoughts and impulses of which she knew nothing, was naturally the first to recover and to make wistful overtures of peace. Well, Arthur, she said, after a while, leaning forward to him, her mild voice making a gentle murmur through the din of the journey, though it was very foolish of me not to speak to him when I saw him, still, dear, he is gone and out of the way; that is a great comfortwe will never, never let him come near Susan again. That is just what I was afraid of; I have been saying to myself all day, What if he should go to Lonsdale too, and deny it all? but Providence, you see, dear, has ordered it for us, and now he shall never come near my poor child again. Do you think he has been to Lonsdale? asked Vincent. My poor Susan! said his simple mother, she will be happier than ever when we come to her with this dreadful news. Yes; I suppose he must have been seeing her, Arthurand I am glad it has happened while I was away, and before we knew; and now he is gone, said the widow, looking out of the carriage with a sigh of relief, as if she could still see the road by which he had disappearednow he is gone, there will be no need for any dreadful strife or arguments. God always arranges things for us so much better than we can arrange them for ourselves. Fancy if he had come tomorrow to tear her dear heart to pieces!Oh, Arthur, I am very thankful! There will be nothing to do now but to think best how to break it to her. He had ladies with him; it is dreadful to think of such villany. Oh, Arthur, do you imagine it could be his wife?and somebody in a blue veil. A blue veil!Mrs. Hilyards message suddenly occurred to Vincents mind, with its special mention of that article of disguise. If this man is the man we suppose, he has accomplished one of his wishes, said the minister, slowly; and she will kill him as sure as he lives. Who will kill him?I hope nothing has occurred about your friends child to agitate my Susan, said his mother. It was all the kindness of your heart, my dear boy; but it was very imprudent of you to let Susans name be connected with anybody of doubtful character. Oh, Arthur, dear, we have both been very imprudent!you have so much of my quick temper. It was a punishment to me to see how impatient you were today; but Susan takes after your dear father. Oh, my own boy, pray; pray for her, that her heart may not be broken by this dreadful news. And Mrs. Vincent leant back in her corner, and once more put down her veil. Pray!who was he to pray for? Susan, forlorn and innocent, disappointed in her first love, but unharmed by any worldly soil or evil passion?or the other sufferers involved in more deadly sort, himself palpitating with feverish impulses, broken loose from all his peaceful youthful moorings, burning with discontents and aspirations, not spiritual, but of the world? Vincent prayed none as he asked himself that bitter question. He drew back in his seat opposite his mother, and pondered in his heart the wonderful difference between the objects of compassion to whom the world gives ready tears, and those of whom the world knows and suspects nothing. Susan! he could see her mother weeping over her in her white and tender innocence. What if, perhaps, she broke her young heart? the shock would only send the girl with more clinging devotion to the feet of the great Father; but as for himself, all astray from duty and sober life, devoured with a consuming fancy, loathing the way and the work to which he had been trained to believe that Father had called himwho thought of weeping?or for Her, whom his alarmed imagination could not but follow, going forth remorseless and silent to fulfil her promise, and kill the man who had wronged her? Oh, the cheat of tears!falling sweet over the young sufferers whom sorrow blesseddrying up from the horrible complex pathways where other souls, in undisclosed anguish, went farther and farther from God! With such thoughts the mother and son hurried on upon their darkling journey. It was the middle of the night when they arrived in Lonsdalea night starless, but piercing with cold. They were the only passengers who got out at the little station, where two or three lamps glared wildly on the night, and two pale porters made a faint bustle to forward the long convoy of carriages upon its way. One of these men looked anxiously at the widow, as if with the sudden impulse of asking a question, or communicating some news, but was called off by his superior before he could speak. Vincent unconsciously observed the look, and was surprised and even alarmed by it, without knowing why. It returned to his mind, as he gave his mother his arm to walk the remaining distance home. Why did the man put on that face of curiosity and wonder? But, to be sure, to see the mild widow arrive in this unexpected way in the middle of the icy January night, must have been surprising enough to any one who knew her, and her gentle decorous life. He tried to think no more of it, as they set out upon the windy road, where a few sparelyscattered lamps blinked wildly, and made the surrounding darkness all the darker. The station was half a mile from the town, and Mrs. Vincents cottage was on the other side of Lonsdale, across the river, which stole sighing and gleaming through the heart of the little place. Somehow the sudden black shine of that water as they caught it, crossing the bridge, brought a shiver and flash of wild imagination to the mind of the Nonconformist. He thought of suicides, murders, ghastly concealment, and misery; and again the face of the porter returned upon him. What if something had happened while the watchful mother had been out of the way? The wind came sighing round the corners with an ineffectual gasp, as if it too had some warning, some message to deliver. Instinctively he drew his mothers arm closer, and hurried her on. Suggestions of horrible unthoughtof evil seemed lurking everywhere in the noiseless blackness of the night. Mrs. Vincent shivered too, but it was with cold and natural agitation. In her heart she was putting tender words together, framing tender phrasesconsulting with herself how she was to look, and how to speak. Already she could see the halfawakened girl, starting up all glowing and sweet from her safe rest, unforeboding of evil; and the widow composed her face under the shadow of her veil, and sent back with an effort the unshed tears from her eyes, that Susan might not see any traces in her face, till she had prepared her a little, for that dreadful, inevitable blow. The cottage was all dark, as was naturaldoubly dark tonight, for there was no light in the skies, and the wind had extinguished the lamp which stood nearest, and on ordinary occasions threw a doubtful flicker on the little house. Susan will soon hear us, she is such a light sleeper, said Mrs. Vincent. Ring the bell, Arthur. I dont like using the knocker, to disturb the neighbours. Everybody would think it so surprising to hear a noise in the middle of the night from our house. Therewait a moment. That was a very loud ring; Susan must be sleeping very soundly if that does not wake her up. There was a little pause; not a sound, except the tinkling of the bell, which they could hear inside as the peal gradually subsided, was in the air; breathless silence, darkness, cold, an inhuman preternatural chill and watchfulness, no welcome sound of awakening sleepers, only their own dark shadows in the darkness, listening like all the hushed surrounding world at that closed door. Poor dear! Oh, Arthur, it is dreadful to come and break her sleep, sighed Mrs. Vincent, whose strain of suspense and expectation heightened the effect of the cold when will she sleep as sound again? Give another ring, dear. How terribly dark and quiet it is! Ring again, again, Arthur!dear, dear me, to think of Susan in such a sound sleep!and generally she starts at any noise. It is to give her strength to bear what is coming, poor child, poor child! The bell seemed to echo out into the silent road, it pealed so clearly and loudly through the shutup house, but not another sound disturbed the air without or within. Mrs. Vincent began to grow restless and alarmed. She went out into the road, and gazed up at the closed windows; her very teeth chattered with anxiety and cold. It is very odd she does not wake, said the widow; she must be rousing now, surely. Arthur, dont look as if we had bad news. Try to command your countenance, dear. Hush! dont you hear them stirring? Now, Arthur, Arthur, oh remember not to look so dreadful as you did in Carlingford! I am sure I hear her coming downstairs. Hark! what is it? Ring again, Arthuragain! The words broke confused and halfarticulate from her lips; a vague dread took possession of her, as of her son. For his part, he rang the bell wildly without pausing, and applied the knocker to the echoing door with a sound which seemed to reverberate back and back through the darkness. It was not the sleep of youth Vincent thought of, as, without a word to say, he thundered his summons on the cottage door. He was not himself aware what he was afraid of; but in his mind he saw the porters alarmed and curious look, and felt the ominous silence thrilling with loud clangour of his own vain appeals through the deserted house. At length a soundthe mother and son both rushed speechless towards the sidewindow, from which it came. The window creaked slowly open, and a head, which was not Susans, looked cautiously out. Who is there? cried a strange voice; its some mistake. This is Mrs. Vincents, this is, and nobodys at home. If you dont go away Ill spring the rattle, and call Thieves, thievesFire! What do you mean coming rousing folks like this in the dead of night? Oh, Williams, are you there? Thank God!then all is well, said Mrs. Vincent, clasping her hands. It is Iyou need not be afraidI and my son dont disturb Miss Susan, since she has not heard usbut come down, and let us in;dont disturb my daughter. It is Idont you know my voice? Good Lord! cried the speaker at the window; then in a different tone, Im coming, maamIm coming. Instinctively, without knowing why, Vincent drew his mothers arm within his own, and held her fast. Instinctively the widow clung to him, and kept herself erect by his aid. They did not say a wordno advices now about composing his countenance. Mrs. Vincents face was ghastly, had there been any light to see it. She went sheer forward when the door was open, as though neither her eyes nor person were susceptible of any other motion. An inexpressible air of desolation upon the cottage parlour, where everything looked far too trim and orderly for recent domestic occupation, brought to a climax all the fanciful suggestions which had been tormenting Vincent. He called out his sisters name in an involuntary outburst of dread and excitement, Susan! Susan! The words pealed into the midnight echoesbut there was no Susan to answer to the call. It is God that keeps her asleep to keep her happy, said his mother, with her white lips. She dropt from his arm upon the sofa in a dreadful pause of determination, facing them with wideopen eyesdaring them to undeceive herresolute not to hear the terrible truth, which already in her heart she knew. Susan is asleep, asleep! she cried, in a terrible idiocy of despair, always facing the frightened woman before her with those eyes which knew better, but would not be undeceived. The shivering midnight, the mothers dreadful looks, the sudden waking to all this fright and wonder, were too much for the terrified guardian of the house. She fell on her knees at the widows feet. Oh, Lord! Miss Susans gone! Id have kep her if I had been here. Id have said her mamma would never send no gentleman but Mr. Arthur to fetch her away. But shes gone. Good Lord! its killed my missisI knew it would kill my missis. Oh, good Lord! good Lord! Run for a doctor, Mr. Arthur; if the missis is gone, what shall we do? Vincent threw the frightened creature off with a savage carelessness of which he was quite unconscious, and raised his mother in his arms. She had fallen back in a dreary momentary fit which was not faintingher eyes fluttering under their halfclosed lids, her lips moving with sounds that did not come. The shock had struck her as such shocks strike the mortal frame when it grows old. When sound burst at last from the moving lips, it was in a babble that mocked all her efforts to speak. But she was not unconscious of the sudden misery. Her eyes wandered about, taking in everything around her, and at last fixed upon a letter lying halfopen on Susans worktable, almost the only token of disorder or agitation in the trim little room. The first sign of revival she showed was pointing at it with a doubtful but impatient gesture. Before she could make them understand what she meant, that quick temper of which Mrs. Vincent accused herself blazed up in the widows eyes. She raised herself erect out of her sons arms, and seized the paper. It was Vincents letter to his sister, written from London after he had failed in his inquiries about Mr. Fordham. In the light of this dreadful midnight the young man himself perceived how alarming and peremptory were its brief injunctions. Dont write to Mr. Fordham again till my mothers return; probably I shall bring her home we have something to say to you on this subject, and in the mean time be sure you do as I tell you. Mrs. Vincent gradually recovered herself as she read this; she said it over under her breath, getting back the use of her speech. There was not much explanation in it, yet it seemed to take the place, in the mothers confused faculties, of an apology for Susan. She was frightened, said Mrs. Vincent, slowly, with strange twitches about her lipsshe was frightened. That was all her mind could take in at once. Afterwards, minute by minute, she raised herself up, and came to selfcommand and composure. Only as she recovered did the truth reveal itself clearly even to Vincent, who, after the first shock, had been occupied entirely by his mother. The young mans head throbbed and tingled as if with blows. As she sat up and gazed at him with her own recovered looks, through the dim icecold atmosphere, lighted faintly with one candle, they both woke up to the reality of their position. The shock of the discovery was overSusan was gone; but where, and with whom? There was still something to hope, if everything to fear. She is gone to her aunt Alice, said Mrs. Vincent, once more looking full in the eyes of the woman who had been left in charge of the house, and who stood shivering with cold and agitation, winding and unwinding round her a thin shawl in which she had wrapped up her arms. She has gone to her aunt Aliceshe was frightened, and thought something had happened. Tomorrow we can go and bring her home. Oh, good Lord! No; she aint there, cried the frightened witness, half inaudible with her chattering teeth. Or to Mrs. Hastings at the farm. Susan knows what friends I can trust her to. Arthur, dear, let us go to bed. Its uncomfortable, but you wont mind for one night, said the widow, with a gasp, rising up and sitting down again. She dared not trust herself to hear any explanation, yet all the time fixed with devouring eyes upon the face of the woman whom she would not suffer to speak. Mother, for Heavens sake let us understand it; let her speaklet us know. Where has Susan gone? Speak out; never mind interruptions. Where is my sister? cried Vincent, grasping the terrified woman by the arm. Oh Lord! If the missis wouldnt look at me like that! I aint to blame! cried Williams, piteously. It was the day afore yesterday as the ladies came. I come up to help Mary with the beds. There was the old lady as had on a brown bonnet and the young miss in the blue veil Vincent uttered a sudden exclamation, and looked at his mother; but she would not meet his eyeswould not acknowledge any recognition of that fatal piece of gauze. She gave a little gasp, sitting bolt upright, holding fast by the back of a chair, but kept her eyes steadily and sternly upon the womans face. We tidied the best room for the lady, and Miss Susans little closet; and Mary had out the best sheets, for she says Marywheres Mary? cried Mrs. Vincent, suddenly. I know no more nor a babe, cried Williams, wringing her hands. Shes along with Miss Susanwherever that may beand the one in the blue veil. Go on, go on! cried Vincent. But his mother did not echo his cry. Her strained hand fell upon her lap with a certain relaxation and relief; her gaze grew less rigid; incomprehensible moisture came to her eyes. Oh, Arthur, theres comfort in it! said Mrs. Vincent, looking like herself again. Shes taken Mary, God bless her! shes known what she was doing. Now Im more easy; Williams, you can sit down and tell us the rest. Go on! cried Vincent, fiercely. Good heavens! what good can a blundering country girl do here?go on. The women thought otherwise; they exchanged looks of sympathy and thankfulness; they excited the impatient young man beside them, who thought he knew the world, into the wildest exasperation by that pause of theirs. His mother even loosed her bonnet off her aching head, and ventured to lean back under the influence of that visionary consolation; while Vincent, aggravated to the intolerable pitch, sprang up, and, once more seizing Williams by the arm, shook her unawares in the violence of his anxiety. Answer me! cried the young man; you tell us everything but the most important of all. Besides this girland Marywho was with my sister when she went away? Oh Lord! you shake the breath out of me, Mr. Arthuryou do, cried the woman. Who? why, who should it be, to be sure, but him as had the best right after yourself to take Miss Susan to her mamma? Youve crossed her on the road, poor dear, said the adherent of the house, wringing her hands; but she was going to her mathats where she was going. Mr. Arthurs letter gave her a turn; and then, to be sure, when Mr. Fordham came, the very first thing he thought upon was to take her to her mamma. Vincent groaned aloud. In his first impulse of fury he seized his hat and rushed to the door to pursue them anyhow, by any means. Then, remembering how vain was the attempt, came back again, dashed down the hat he had put on, and seized upon the railway book in his pocket, to see when he could start upon that desperate mission. Minister as he was, a muttered curse ground through his teethvillain! coward! destroyer!curse him! His passion was broken in the strangest way by the composed sounds of his mothers voice. It was very natural, she said, with dry tones, taking time to form the words as if they choked her; and of course, as you say, Williams, Mr. Fordham had the best right. He will take her to his mothersoror leave her in my sons rooms in Carlingford; and as she has Mary with herArthur, continued his mother, fixing a warning emphatic look upon him as he raised his astonished eyes to her face, you know that is quite right after youMr. Fordham isthe only personthat could have taken care of her in her journey. There, I am satisfied. Perhaps, Williams, you had better go to bed. My son and I have something to talk of, now I feel myself. Ill go light the fire, and get you a cup of teaoh Lord! what Miss Susan would say if she knew you were here, and had got such a fright! cried the old servant; but now youre composed, theres nothing asll do you good like a cup of tea. Thank youyes; make it strong, and Mr. Arthur will have some too, said the widow; and take care the kettle is boiling; and then, Williams, you must not mind us, but go to bed. Vincent threw down his book, and stared at her with something of that impatience and halfcontempt which had before moved him. If the world were breaking up, I suppose women could still drink tea! he said, bitterly. Oh, Arthur, my dear boy, cried his mother, dont you see we must put the best face on it now? Everybody must not know that Susan has been carried away by a O God, forgive me! dont let me curse him, Arthur. Let us get away from Lonsdale, dear, before we say anything. Words will do no good. Oh, my dear boy, till we know better, Mr. Fordham is Susans betrothed husband, and he has gone to take care of her to Carlingford. Hushdont say any more. I am going to compose myself, Arthur, for my childs sake, cried the mother, with a smile of anguish, looking into her sons face. How did she drive those tears back out of her patient eyes? how did she endure to talk to the old servant about what was to be done tomorrowand how the sick lady was next doortill the excited and shivering attendant could be despatched upstairs and got out of the way? Womans weaker nature, that could mingle the common with the great; or womans strength, that could endure all thingswhich was it? The young man, sitting by in a sullen, intolerable suspense, waiting till it was practicable to rush away through the creeping gloom of night after the fugitives, could no more understand these phenomena of love and woe, than he could translate the distant mysteries of the spheres. CHAPTER XVII. EARLY morning, but black as midnight; bitter cold, if bitterer cold could be, than that to which they entered when they first came to the deserted house; the little parlour, oh, so woefully trim and tidy, with the fire laid ready for lighting, which even the mother, anxious about her son, had not had the heart to light; the candle on the table between them lighting dimly this speechless interval; some shawls laid ready to take with them when they went back again to the earliest train; Mrs. Vincent sitting by with her bonnet on, and its veil drooping half over her pale face, sometimes rousing up to cast hidden looks of anxiety at her son, sometimes painfully saying something with a vain effort at smilingwhat oclock was it? when did he think they could reach town?little ineffectual attempts at the common intercourse, which seemed somehow to deepen the dreadful silence, the shivering cold, the utter desolation of the scene. Such a night!its minutes were hours as they stole by noiseless in murderous length and tediumand the climax of its misery was in the little start with which Mrs. Vincent now and then woke up out of her own thoughts to make that pitiful effort to talk to her son. They were sitting thus, waiting, not even venturing to look at each other, when a sudden sound startled them. Nothing more than a footstep outside approaching softly. A footstepsurely two steps. They could hear them far off in this wonderful stillness, making steady progress nearnearer. Mrs. Vincent rose up, stretching her little figure into a preternatural hysteric semblance of height. Who was it? Two peoplesurely womenand what women could be abroad at such an hour? One lighter, one heavier, irregular as female steps are, coming this waythis way! Her heart fluttered in the widows ears with a sound that all but obliterated those steps which still kept advancing. Hark, sudden silence! a pausethen, oh merciful heaven, could it be true? a tinkle at the bella summons at the closed door. Mrs. Vincent had flown forth with open armswith eyes blinded. The poor soul thought nothing less than that it was her child returned. They carried her back speechless, in a disappointment too cruel and bitter to have expression. Two womenone sober, sleepy, nervous, and full of trouble, unknown to either mother or sonthe other with a certain dreadful inspiration in her dark face, and eyes that gleamed out of it as if they had concentrated into them all the blackness of the night. You are going back, and so am I, Mrs. Hilyard said. I came to say a word to you before I go away. If I have been anyhow the cause, forgive me. God knows, of all things in the world the last I dreamt of was to injure this good woman or invade her innocent house. Do you know where they have gone?did she leave any letters?Tell me. She shall be precious to me as my own, if I find them out. Mrs. Vincent freed herself from her sons arms, and got up with her blanched face. My daughterfollowed meto Carlingford, she said, in broken words, with a determination which sat almost awful on her weakness. We have had the great misfortuneto cross each otheron the way. I am goingafter herdirectly. I am not afraidof my Susan. She is all safe in my sons house. The others exchanged alarmed looks, as they might have done had a child suddenly assumed the aspect of a leader. She, who could scarcely steady her trembling limbs to stand upright, faced their looks with a dumb denial of her own anguish. It isvery unfortunatebut I am not anxious, she said, slowly, with a ghastly smile. Human nature could do no more. She sank down again on her seat, but still faced themabsolute in her selfrestraint, rejecting pity. Not even tears should fall upon Susans sweet namenot while her mother lived to defend it in life and death. The Carlingford needlewoman stood opposite her, gazing with eyes that went beyond that figure, and yet dwelt upon it, at so wonderful a spectacle. Many a terrible secret of life unknown to the ministers gentle mother throbbed in her heart; but she stood in a pause of wonder before that weaker woman. The sight of her stayed the passionate current for a moment, and brought the desperate woman to a pause. Then she turned to the young man, who stood speechless by his mothers side You are a priest, and yet you do not curse, she said. Is God as careless of a curse as of a blessing? She thinks He will save the Innocents yet. She does not know that He stands by like a man, and sees them murdered, and shines and rains all the same. God! NoHe never interferes. Goodbye, she added, suddenly, holding out to him the thin hand upon which, even in that dreadful moment, his eye still caught the traces of her work, the scars of the needle, and stains of the coarse colour. If you ever see me again, I shall be a famous woman, Mr. Vincent. You will have a little of the trail of my glory, and be able to furnish details of my latter days. This good Miss Smith here will tell you of the life it was before; but if I should make a distinguished end after all, come to see me thennever mind where. I speak madly, to be sure, but you dont understand me. Therenot a word. You preach very well, but I am beyond preaching nowGoodbye. No, said Vincent, clutching her handnever, if you go with that horrible intention in your eyes; I will say no farewell to such an errand as this. The eyes in their blank brightness paused at him for a moment before they passed to the vacant air on which they were always fixedpaused with a certain glance of troubled amusement, the lightning of former days. You flatter me, she said, steadily, with the old habitual movement of her mouth. It is years since anybody has taken the trouble to read any intention in my eyes. But dont you understand yet that a womans intention is the last thing she is likely to perform in this world? We do have meanings now and then, we poor creatures, but they seldom come to much. Goodbye, goodbye! You cannot look at me, said Vincent, with a conscious incoherence, reason or argument being out of the question. What is it you see behind there? Where are you looking with those dreadful eyes? She brought her eyes back as he spoke, with an evident effort, to fix them upon his face. I once remarked upon your highbreeding, said the strange woman. A prince could not have shown finer manners than you did in Carlingford, Mr. Vincent. Dont disappoint me now. If I see ghosts behind you, what then? Most people that have lived long enough, come to see ghosts before they die. But this is not exactly the time for conversation, however interesting it may be. If you and I ever see each other again, things will have happened before then; you too, perhaps, may have found the ghosts out. I appoint you to come to see me after you have come to life again, in the next world. Goodnight. I dont forget that you gave me your blessing when we parted last. She was turning away when Mrs. Vincent rose, steadying herself by the chair, and put a timid hand upon the strangers arm. I dont know who you are, said the widow; it is all a strange jumble; but I am an older woman than you, and aa ministers wife. You have something on your mind. My son is frightened you will do somethingI cannot tell what. You are much cleverer than I am; but I am, as I say, an older woman, and aa ministers wife. I am notafraid of anything. Yes! I know God does not always save the Innocents, as you saybut He knows why, though we dont. Will you go with me? If you have gone astray when you were young, said the mild woman, raising up her little figure with an ineffable simplicity, I will never ask any questions, and it will not matterfor everybody I care for knows me. The dreadful things you think of will not happen if we go together. I was a ministers wife thirty years. I know human nature and Gods goodness. Come with me. Mother, mother! what are you saying? cried Vincent, who had all the time been making vain attempts to interrupt this extraordinary speech. Mrs. Hilyard put him away with a quick gesture. She took hold of the widows hand with that firm, supporting, compelling pressure under which, the day before, Mrs. Vincent had yielded up all her secrets. She turned her eyes out of vacancy to the little pale woman who offered her this protection. A sudden mist surprised those gleaming eyesa sudden thrill ran through the thin, slight, iron figure, upon which fatigue and excitement seemed to make no impression. The rock was stricken at last. Nono, she sighed, with a voice that trembled. Nono! the lamb and the lion do not go together yet in this poor world. Nonono. I wonder what tears have to do in my eyes; ah, God in the skies! if you ever do miracles, do one for this woman, and save her child! Praying and crying are strange fancies for meI must go away, but first, she said, still holding Mrs. Vincent fasta woman is but a woman after allif it is more honourable to be a wicked mans wife than to have gone astray, as you call it, then there is no one in the world who can breathe suspicion upon me. Ask this other good woman here, who knows all about me, but fears me, like you. Fears me! What do you suppose there can be to fear, Mr. Vincent, you who are a scholar, and know better than these soft women, said Mrs. Hilyard, suddenly dropping the widows hand, and turning round upon the young minister, with an instant throwing off of all emotion, which had the strangest horrifying effect upon the little agitated company, in a woman who was born to the name of Rachel Russell, the model English wife? Will the world ever believe harm, do you imagine, of such a name? I will take refuge in my ancestress.


But we go different ways, and have different ends to accomplish, she continued, with a sudden returning gleam of the subdued horrorGoodnightgoodnight! Oh, stop her, Arthurstop her!Susan will be at Carlingford when we get there; Susan will go nowhere else but to her mother, cried Mrs. Vincent, as the door closed on the nocturnal visitorsI am as sureas sure! Oh, my dear, do you think I can have any doubt of my own child? As for Susan going astrayor being carried offor falling into wickednessArthur! said his mother, putting back her veil from her pale face, now I have got over this dreadful night, I know betternobody must breathe such a thing to me. Tell her so, deartell her so!call her backthey will be at Carlingford when we get there! Vincent drew his mothers arm through his own, and led her out into the darkness, which was morning and no longer night. A few hours longer and we shall see, he said, with a harddrawn breath. Into that darkness Mrs. Hilyard and her companion had disappeared. There was another line of railway within a little distance of Lonsdale, but Vincent was at pains not to see his fellowtravellers as he placed his mother once more in a carriage, and once more caught the eye of the man whose curious look had startled him. When the grey morning began to dawn, it revealed two ashen faces, equally speechless and absorbed with thoughts which neither dared communicate to the other. They did not even look at each other, as the merciful noise and motion wrapped them in that little separate sphere of being. One possibility and no more kept a certain coherence in both their thoughts, otherwise lost in wild chaoshorrible suspensean uncertainty worse than death. CHAPTER XVIII. IT was the very height of day when the travellers arrived in Carlingford. It would be vain to attempt to describe their transit through London in the bustling sunshine of the winter morning after the vigil of that night, and in the frightful suspense and excitement of their minds. Vincent remembered, for years after, certain cheerful streetcorners, round which they turned on their way from one station to another, with shudders of recollection, and an intense consciousness of all the life circulating about them, even to the attitudes of the boys that swept the crossings, and their contrast with each other. His mother made dismal attempts now and then to say something; that he was looking pale; that after all he could yet preach, and begin his course on the Miracles; that it would be such a comfort to rest when they got home; but at last became inaudible, though he knew by her bending across to him, and the motion of those parched lips with which she still tried to smile, that the widow still continued to make those pathetic little speeches without knowing that she had become speechless in the rising tide of her agony. But at last they reached Carlingford, where everything was at its brightest, all the occupations of life afloat in the streets, and sunshine, lavish though ineffectual, brightening the whole aspect of the town. When they emerged from the railway, Mrs. Vincent took her sons arm, and for the last time made some remark with a ghastly smilebut no sound came from her lips. They walked up the sunshiny street together with such silent speed as would have been frightful to look at had anybody known what was in their hearts. Mrs. Pigeon, who was coming along the other side, crossed over on purpose to accost the minister and be introduced to his mother, but was driven frantic by the total blank unconsciousness with which the two swept past her; taking no more notice than if he had never set eyes on me in his born days! as she described it afterwards. The door of the house where Vincent lived was opened to them briskly by the little maid in holiday attire; everything wore the most sickening, oppressive brightness within in fresh Saturday cleanliness. Vincent half carried his mother up the steps, and held fast in his own to support her the hand which he had drawn tightly through his arm. Is there any one here? Has anybody come for me since I left? he asked, with the sound of his own words ringing shrilly into his ears. Please, sir, Mr. Tozers been, said the girl, alertly, with smiling confidence. She could not comprehend the groan with which the young man startled all the clear and sunshiny atmosphere, nor the sudden rustle of the little figure beside him, which moved somehow, swaying with the words as if they were a wind. Mother, you are going to faint! cried Vincentand the little maid flew in terror to call her mistress, and bring a glass of water. But when she came back, the mother and son were no longer in the bright hall with its newly cleaned wainscot and whitened floor. When she followed them upstairs with the water, it was the minister who had dropped into the easychair with his face hidden on the table, and his mother was standing beside him. Mrs. Vincent looked up when the girl came in and said, Thank youthat will do, looking in her face, and not at what she carried. She was of a dreadful paleness, and looked with eyes that were terrible to that wondering observer upon the little attendant. Perhaps there have been some letters or messages, said Mrs. Vincent. Wewe expected somebody to come; think! a young lady came here?and when she found we were gone Only Miss Phbe! said the girl, in amazementto say as her Ma Only Miss Phbe! repeated the widow, as if she did not comprehend the words. Then she turned to her son, and smoothed down the ruffled locks on his head; then held out her hand again to arrest the girl as she was going away. Has your mistress got anything in the house, she askedany soup or cold meat, or anything? Would you bring it up, please, directly?soup would perhaps be bestor a nice chop. Ask what she has got, and bring it up on a tray. You need not lay the clothonly a tray with a napkin. Yes, I see you know what I mean. Mother! cried Vincent, raising his head in utter fright as the maid left the room. He thought in the shock his mothers gentle wits had gone. You have eaten nothing, dear, since we left, she said, with a heartbreaking smile. I am not going crazy, Arthur. O no, no, my dear boy! I will not go crazy; but you must eat something, and not be killed too. Susan is not here, said Mrs. Vincent, with a ghastly, wistful look round the room; but we are not going to distrust her at the very first moment, far less her Maker, Arthur. Oh, my dear, I must not speak, or something will happen to me; and nothing must happen to you or me till we have found your sister. You must eat when it comes, and then you must go away. Perhaps, said Mrs. Vincent, sitting down and looking her son direct in the eyes, as if to read any suggestion that could arise there, she has lost her wayperhaps she missed one of these dreadful trainsperhaps she got on the wrong railway, Arthur. Oh, my dear boy, you must take something to eat, and then you must go and bring Susan home. She has nobody to take care of her but you. Vincent returned his mothers look with a wild inquiring gaze, but with his lips he said Yes, not daring to put in words the terrible thoughts in his heart. The two said nothing to each other of the horror that possessed them both, or of the dreadful haze of uncertainty in which that Susan whom her brother was to go and bring home as if from an innocent visit, was now enveloped. Their eyes spoke differently as they looked into each other, and silently withdrew again, each from each, not daring to communicate further. Just then a slight noise came below, to the door. Mrs. Vincent stood up directly in an agony of listening, trembling all over. To be sure it was nothing. When nothing came of it, the poor mother sank back again with a piteous patience, which it was heartbreaking to look at; and Vincent returned from the window which he had thrown open in time to see Phbe Tozer disappear from the door. They avoided each others eyes now; one or two heavy sobs broke forth from Mrs. Vincents breast, and her son walked with a dreadful funereal step from one end of the room to the other. Not even the consolation of consulting together what was to be done, or what might have happened, was left them. They dared not put their position into wordsdared not so much as inquire in their thoughts where Susan was, or what had befallen her. She was to be brought home; but whence or from what abyss neither ventured to say. Upon their misery the little maid entered again with her tray, and the hastily prepared refreshment which Mrs. Vincent had ordered for her son. The girls eyes were round and staring with wonder and curiosity; but she was aware, with female instinct, that the ministers mother, awful little figure, with lynx eyes, which nothing escaped, was watching her, and her observations were nervous accordingly. Please, sir, its a chop, said the girlplease, sir, missus sent to know was the other gentleman acoming?and please, if he is, there aint nowhere as missus knows of, as he can sleepwith the lady, and you, and all; and the other lodgers as wellsaid the handmaiden with a sigh, as she set down her tray and made a desperate endeavour to turn her back upon Mrs. Vincent, and to read some interpretation of all this in the unguarded countenance of the minister; and please, am I to bring up the Wooster sauce, and would the lady like some tea or anythink? And missus would be particklar obliged if you would say. Miss Phbes been to ask the gentleman to tea, but where hes to sleep, missus says Yes, yes, to be sure, said Vincent, impatiently; he can have my room, tell your mistressthat will dowe dont want anything more. Mr. Vincent is going to leave town again this afternoon, said his mother. Tell your mistress that I shall be glad to have a little conversation with her after my son goes awayand you had better bring the saucebut it would have saved you trouble and been more sensible, if you had put it on the tray in the first place. Oh, Arthur, cried his mother again, when she had seen the little maid fairly outdo be a little prudent, my dear! When a minister lodges with one of his flock, he must think of appearancesand if it were only for my dear childs sake, Arthur! Susan must not be spoken of through our anxiety; oh, my child!Where can she be?Where can she be? Mother dear, you must keep up, or everything is lost! cried Vincent, for the first time moved to the depths of his heart by that outcry of despair. He came to her and held her trembling hands, and laid his face upon them without any kiss or caress, that close clinging touch of itself expressing best the fellowship of their wretchedness. But Mrs. Vincent put her son away from her, when the door again bounced open. My dear boy, here is the sauce, and you must eat your chop, she said, getting up and drawing forward a chair for him; her hands, which trembled so, grew steady as she put everything in order, cut the bread, and set his plate before him. Oh, eat something, Arthur dearyou must, or you cannot go through it, said the widow, with her piteous smile. Then she sat down at the table by him in her defensive armour. The watchful eyes of the flock were all around spying upon the dreadful calamity which had overwhelmed them; at any moment the college companion whom Vincent had sent for might come in upon them in all the gaiety of his holiday. What they said had to be said with this consciousnessand the mother, in the depth of her suspense and terror, sat like a queen inspected on all sides, and with possible traitors round her, but resolute and selfcommanding in her extremity, determined at least to be true to herself. Arthur, can you think where to go? she said, after a little interval, almost under her breath. To London first, said Vincentto inquire afterhim, curse him! dont say anything, motherI am only a man after all. Then, according to the information I get.God help us!if I dont get back before another Sunday Mrs. Vincent gave a convulsive start, which shook the table against which she was leaning, and fell to shivering as if in a fit of ague. Oh, Arthur, Arthur, what are you saying? Another Sunday! she exclaimed, with a cry of despair. To live another day seemed impossible in that horror. But selfrestraint was natural to the woman who had been, as she said, a ministers wife for thirty years. She clasped her hands tight, and took up her burden again. I will see Mr. Beecher when he comes, dear, andand speak to him, she said, with a sigh, and I will see the Tozers andand your people, Arthur; and if it should be Gods will to keep us so long in suspense, ififI can keep alive, dear, I may be of some use. Oh, Arthur, Arthur, the Lord have pity upon us! if my darling comes back, will she come here or will she go home? Dont you think she will come here? If I go back to Lonsdale, I will not be able to rest for thinking she is at Carlingford; and if I stayoh, Arthur, where do you think Susan will go to? She might be afraid to see you, and think you would be angry, but she never could distrust her poor mother, who was the first to put her in danger; and to think of my dear child going either there or here, and not finding me, Arthur! My dear, you are not eating anything. You can never go through it all without some support. For my sake, try to eat a little, my own boy; and oh, Arthur, what must I do? These Tozers and people will worry you to death if you stay here, said the minister, with an impatient sigh, as he thought of his own difficulties; but I must not lose time by going back with you to Lonsdale, and you must not travel by yourself, and this is more in the way, whatever happens. Send word to Lonsdale that you are to have a message by telegraph immediatelywithout a moments loss of timeif she comes back. You might say when, Arthur, not if, said his mother, with a little flash of tender resentmentthen she gave way for the moment, and leaned her head against his arm and held him fast with that pressure and close clasp which spoke more than any words. When she raised her pale face again, it was to entreat him once more to eat. Try to take something, if it were only a mouthful, for Susans sake, pleaded the widow. Her son made a dismal attempt as she told him. Happy are the houses that have not seen such dreadful pretences of meals where tears were the only possible food! When she saw him fairly engaged in this desperate effort to take some support, the poor mother went away and wrote a crafty female letter, which she brought to him to read. He would have smiled at it had the occasion been less tragic. It was addressed to the minister of the connection at Lonsdale, and set forth how she was detained at Carlingford by some family affairshow Susan was visiting friends and travelling, and her mother was not sure where to address herand how it would be the greatest favour if he would see Williams at the cottage, and have a message despatched to Mrs. Vincent the moment her daughter returned. Do you not think it would be better to confide in him a little, and tell him what anxiety we are in? said Vincent, when he read this letter. His mother took it out of his hands with a little cry. Oh, Arthur, though you are her brother, you are only a man, and dont understand, cried Mrs. Vincent. Nobody must have anything to say about my child. If she comes tonight, she will come here, continued the poor mother, pausing instinctively once more to listen; she might have been detained somewhere; she may come at any momentat any moment, Arthur dear! Though these telegraphs frighten me, and look as if they must bring bad news, I will send you word directly when my darling girl comes; but oh, my dear, though it is dreadful to send you away, and to think of your travelling tomorrow and breaking the Sunday, and very likely your people hearing itoh, Arthur, God knows better, and will not blame you and if you will not take anything more to eat, you should not lose time, my dearest boy! Dont look at me, Arthurdont say goodbye. Perhaps you may meet her before you leaveperhaps you may not need to go away. Oh, Arthur dear, dont lose any more time! It is scarcely time for the train yet, said the minister, getting up slowly; the world does not care, though our hearts are breaking; it keeps its own time. Mother, goodbye. God knows what may have happened before I see you again. Oh, Arthur, say nothingsay nothing! What can happen but my child to come home? cried his mother, as he clasped her hands and drew her closer to him. She leaned against her sons breast, which heaved convulsively, for one moment, and no more. She did not look at him as he went slowly out of the room, leaving her to the unspeakable silence and solitude in which every kind of terror started up and crept about. But before Vincent had left the house his mothers anxiety and hope were once more excited to passion. Some one knocked and entered; there was a sound of voices and steps on the stair audibly approaching this room in which she sat with her fears. But it was not Susan; it was a young man of Arthurs own age, with his travellingbag in his hand, and his sermons in his pocket. He had no suspicion that the sight of him brought the chill of despair to her heart as he went up to shake hands with his friends mother. Vincent would not come back to introduce me, said Mr. Beecher, but he said I should find you here. I have known him many years, and it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sometimes he used to show me your letters years ago. Is Miss Vincent with you? It is pleasant to get out of town for a little, even though one has to preach; and they will all be interested in Omerton to hear how Vincent is getting on. Made quite a commotion in the world, they say, with these lectures of his. I always knew he would make an it if he had fairplay. I am very glad to see you, said Mrs. Vincent. I have just come up from Lonsdale, and everything is in a confusion. When people grow old, said the poor widow, busying herself in collecting the broken pieces of bread which Arthur had crumbled down by way of pretending to eat, they feel fatigue and being put out of their way more than they ought. What can I get for you? will you have a glass of wine, and dinner as soon as it can be ready? My son had to go away. Preaching somewhere? asked the lively Mr. Beecher. Nno; he has someprivate business to attend to, said Mrs. Vincent, with a silent groan in her heart. Ah!going to be married, I suppose? said the man from Omerton; thats the natural consequence after a man gets a charge. Miss Vincent is not with you, I think you said? Ill take a glass of wine, thank you; and I hear one of the flock has sent over to ask me to teaMr. Tozer, a leading man, I believe, among our people here, added Mr. Beecher, with a little complacence. Its very pleasant when a congregation is hospitable and friendly. When a pastors popular, you see, it always reacts upon his brethren. May I ask if you are going to Mr. Tozers to tea tonight? Oh, no, faltered poor Mrs. Vincent, whom prudence kept from adding, heaven forbid! Theydid not know I was here, she continued, faintly, turning away to ring the bell. Mr. Beecher, who flattered himself on his penetration, nodded slightly when her back was turned. Jealous that theyve asked me, said the preacher, with a lively thrill of human satisfaction. How was he to know the blank of misery, the wretched feverish activity of thought, that possessed that mild little woman, as she gave her orders about the removal of the tray, and the dinner which already was being prepared for the stranger? But the lively young man from Omerton perceived that there was something wrong. Vincents black looks when he met him at the door, and the exceeding promptitude of that invitation to tea, were two and two which he could put together. He concluded directly that the pastor, though he had made an it, was not found to suit the connection in Carlingford; and that possibly another candidate for Salem might be required ere long. I would not injure Vincent for the world, he said to himself, but if he does not it it, I might. The thought was not unpleasant. Accordingly, while Vincents mother kept her place there in the anguish of her heart, thinking that perhaps, even in this dreadful extremity, she might be able to do something for Arthur with his people, and conciliate the authorities, her guest was thinking, if Vincent were to leave Carlingford, what a pleasant distance from town it was, and how very encouraging of the Tozers to ask him to tea. It might come to something more than preaching for a friend; and if Vincent did not it it, and a change were desirable, nobody could tell what might happen. All this smiling fabric the stranger built upon the discomposed looks of the Vincents and Phbes invitation to tea. To sit by him and keep up a little attempt at conversationto superintend his dinner, and tell him what she knew of Salem and her sons lectures, and his success generally, as became the ministers motherwas scarcely so hard as to be left afterwards, when he went out to Tozers, all alone once more with the silence, with the sounds outside, with the steps that seem to come to the door, and the carriages that paused in the street, all sending dreadful thrills of hope through poor Mrs. Vincents wornout heart. Happily, her faculties were engaged by those frequent and oftrepeated tremors. In the fever of her anxiety, always startled with an expectation that at last this was Susan, she did not enter into the darker question where Susan might really be, and what had befallen the unhappy girl. Half an hour after Mr. Beecher left her, Phbe Tozer came in, affectionate and anxious, driving the wretched mother almost wild by the sound of her step and the apparition of her young womanhood, to beg and pray that Mrs. Vincent would join them at their friendly tea. And so this is Mr. Vincents room, said Phbe, with a bashful air; it feels so strange to be here! and you must be so dull when he is gone. Oh, do come, and let us try to amuse you a little; though I am sure none of us could ever be such good company as the ministeroh, not half, nor quarter! cried Phbe. Even in the midst of her misery, the mother was woman enough to think that Phbe showed too much interest in the minister. She declined the invitation with gentle distinctness. She did not return the enthusiastic kiss which was bestowed upon her. I am very tired, thank you, said Mrs. Vincent. On Monday, if all is well, I will call to see your mamma. I hope you will not catch cold coming out in this thin dress. I am sure it was very kind of you; but I am very tired tonight. OnMonday. Alas, Monday! could this horror last so long, and she not die? or would all be well by that time, and Susan in her longing arms? The light went out of her eyes, and the breath from her heart, as that dreadful question stared her in the face. She scarcely saw Phbes withdrawal; she lay back in her chair in a kind of dreadful trance, till those stumbling steps and passing carriages began again, and roused her back into agonised life and bootless hope. CHAPTER XIX. VINCENT had shaken hands with his friend at the door, and hurried past, saying something about losing the train, in order to escape conversation; but, with the vivid perceptions of excitement, he heard the delivery of Phbes message, and saw the complacence with which the Homerton man regarded the invitation which had anticipated his arrival. The young Nonconformist had enough to think of as he took his way once more to the railway, and tea at Mrs. Tozers was anything but attractive to his own fancy; yet in the midst of his wretchedness he could not overcome the personal sense of annoyance which this trifling incident produced. It came like a prick of irritating pain, to aggravate the dull horror which throbbed through him. He despised himself for being able to think of it at all, but at the same time it came back to him, darting unawares again and again into his thoughts. Little as he cared for the entertainments and attention of his flock, he was conscious of a certain exasperation in discovering their eagerness to entertain another. He was disgusted with Phbe for bringing the message, and disgusted with Beecher for looking pleased to receive it. Probably he thinks he will supersede me, Vincent thought, in sudden gusts of disdain now and then, with a sardonic smile on his lip, waking up afterwards with a thrill of deeper selfdisgust, to think that anything so insignificant had power to move him. When he plunged off from Carlingford at last, in the early falling darkness of the winter afternoon, and looked back upon the few lights struggling red through the evening mists, it was with a sense of belonging to the place where he had left an interloper who might take his post over his head, which, perhaps, no other possible stimulant could have given him. He thought with a certain pang of Salem, and that pulpit which was his own, but in which another man should stand tomorrow, with a quickened thrill of something that was almost jealousy; he wondered what might be the sentiments of the connection about his deputyperhaps Brown and Pigeon would prefer that florid voice to his ownperhaps Phbe might find the substitute more practicable than the incumbent. Nothing before had ever made Salem so interesting to the young pastor as Beechers complacence over that invitation to tea. But he had much more serious matters to consider in his rapid journey. Vincent was but a man, though he was Susans brother. He did not share those desperate hopes which afforded a kind of forlorn comfort and agony of expectation to his mothers heart. No thought that Susan would come home either to Carlingford or Lonsdale was in his mind. In what way soever the accursed villain, whom his face blanched with deadly rage to think of, had managed to get her in his power, Susans sweet life was lost, her brother knew. He gave her up with unspeakable anguish and pity; but he did give her up, and hoped for no deliverance. Shame had taken possession of that image which fancy kept presenting in double tenderness and brightness to him as his heart burned in the darkness. He might find her indeed; he might snatch her out of these polluting arms, and bring home the sullied lily to her mother, but never henceforward could hope or honour blossom about his sisters name. He made up his mind to this in grim misery, with his teeth clenched, and a desperation of rage and horror in his heart. But in proportion to his conviction that Susan would not return, was his eagerness to find her, and snatch her away. To think of her in horror and despair was easier than to think of her deluded and happy, as might beas most probably was the case. This latter possibility made Vincent frantic. He could scarcely endure the slowness of the motion which was the highest pitch of speed that skill and steam had yet made possible. No express train could travel so fast as the thoughts which went before him, dismal pioneers penetrating the most dread abysses. To think of Susan happy in her horrible downfall and ruin was more than flesh or blood could bear. When Vincent reached town, he took his way without a moments hesitation to the street in Piccadilly where he had once sought Mr. Fordham. He approached the place now with no precautions; he had his cab driven up to the door, and boldly entered as soon as it was opened. The house was dark and silent but for the light in the narrow hall; nobody there at that dead hour, while it was still too early for dinner. And it was not the vigilant owner of the place, but a drowsy helper in a striped jacket who presented himself at the door, and replied to Vincents inquiry for Colonel Mildmay, that the Colonel was not at homenever was at home at that hourbut was not unwilling to inquire, if the gentleman would wait. Vincent put up the collar of his coat about his ears, and stood back with eager attention, intently alive to everything. Evidently the ruler of the house was absent as well as the Colonel. The man lounged to the staircase and shouted down, leaning upon the bannisters. No aside or concealment was possible in this perfectly easy method of communication. With an anxiety strongly at variance with the colloquy thus going on, and an intensification of all his faculties which only the height of excitement could give, Vincent stood back and listened. He heard every step that passed outside; the pawing of the horse in the cab that waited for him, the chance voices of the passengers, all chimed in, without interrupting the conversation between the man who admitted him and his fellowservant downstairs. Jim, is the Colonel at home?he aint, to be sure, but we wants to know particklar. Here, in a slightly lowered voice, his mothers been took bad, and the parsons sent for him. When is he agoing to be in to dinner? Ask Cookie; shell be sure to know. The Colonel aint coming in to dinner, stoopid, answered the unseen interlocutor; he aint been here all day. Out o town. Couldnt you say so, instead of jabbering? Out o town. Its allays safe to say, and this time its true. Whats he adoing of, in case the genleman should want to know? said the fellow at the head of the stair. After mischief, was the brief and emphatic answer. You come along down to your work, and let the Colonel alone. Any mischief in particklar? continued the man, tossing a dirty napkin in his hand, and standing in careless contempt, with his back to the minister. Its a pleasant way the Colonels got, that is any more particklars, Jim?the genleman ll stand something if youll let him know. Hold your noise, stoopidit aint no concern o yoursmy masters my master, and I aint agoing to tell his secrets, said the voice below. Vincent had made a step forward, divided between his impulse to kick the impertinent fellow who had admitted him downstairs, and the equally strong impulse which prompted him to offer any bribe to the witness who knew his masters secrets; but he was suddenly arrested in both by a step on the street outside, and the grating of a latchkey in the door. A long light step, firm and steady, with a certain sentiment of rapid silent progress in it. Vincent could not tell what strange fascination it was that made him turn round to watch this newcomer. The strangers approach thrilled him vaguely, he could not tell how. Then the door opened, and a man appeared like the footstepa very tall slight figure, stooping forward a little; a pale oval face, too long to be handsome, adorned with a long brown beard; thoughtful eyes, with a distant gleam in them, now and then flashing into sudden penetrating glancesa loose dress too light for the season, which somehow carried out all the peculiarities of the long light step, the thin sinewy form, the thoughtful softness and keenness of the eye. Even in the height of his own suspense and excitement, Vincent paused to ask himself who this could be. He came in with one sudden glance at the stranger in the hall, passed him, and calling to the man, who became on the moment respectful and attentive, asked if there were any letters. What name, sir?beg your pardonmy place aint upstairs, said the fellow. What was the name? Vincent rushed forward when he heard it, and seized the newcomer by the shoulder with the fierceness of a tiger. Fordham! cried the young man, with boiling rage and hatred. Next moment he had let go his grasp, and was gazing bewildered upon the calm stranger, who looked at him with merely a thoughtful inquiry in his eyes. Fordhamat your servicedo you want anything with me? he asked, meeting with undiminished calm the young mans excited looks. This composure put a sudden curb on Vincents passion.


My name is Vincent, he said, restraining himself with an effort; do you know now what I want with you? No? Am I to believe your looks or your name? If you are the man, cried the young Nonconformist, with a groan out of his distracted heart, whom Lady Western could trust with life, to deathor if you are a fiend incarnate, making misery and ruin, you shall not escape me till I know the truth. Where is Susan? Here is where her innocent letters camethey were addressed to your name. Where is she now? Answer me! For you, as well as the rest of us, it is life or death. You are raving, said the stranger, keeping his awakened eyes fixed upon Vincent; but this is easily settled. I returned from the East only yesterday. I dont know you. What was that you said about LadyLadywhat lady? Come in and my name?my name has been unheard in this country, so far as I know, for ten years. Lady?come in and explain what you mean. The two stood together confronting each other in the little parlour of the house, where the striped jacket quickly and humbly lighted the gas. Vincents face, haggard with misery and want of rest, looked wild in that sudden light. The stranger stood opposite him, leaning forward with a strange eagerness and inquiry. He did not care for Vincents anxiety, who was a stranger to him; he cared only to hear again that nameLady? He had heard it already, or he would have been less curious; he wanted to understand this wonderful message wafted to him out of his old life. What did it matter to Herbert Fordham, used to the danger of the deserts and mountains, whether it was a maniac who brought this chance seed of a new existence to his wondering heart? A man called Fordham has gone into my mothers house, said Vincent, fixing his eyes upon those keen but visionary orbs which were fixed on himand won the love of my sister. She wrote to him hereto this house; yesterday he carried her away, to her shame and destruction. Answer me, cried the young man, making another fierce step forward, growing hoarse with passion, and clenching his hands in involuntary ragewas it you? There are other men called Fordham in existence besides me, cried the stranger, with a little irritation; then seizing his loose coat by its pockets, he shook out, with a sudden impatient motion, a cloud of letters from these receptacles. Because you seem in great excitement and distress, and yet are not, as far as I can judge, said Mr. Fordham, with another glance at Vincent, mad, I will take pains to satisfy you. Look at my letters; their dates and postmarks will convince you that what you say is simply impossible, for that I was not here. Vincent clutched and took them up with a certain blind eagerness, not knowing what he did. He did not look at them to satisfy himself that what Fordham said was true. A wild, halfconscious idea that there must be something in them about Susan possessed him; he saw neither dates nor postmark, though he held them up to the light, as if they were proofs of something. No, he said at last, it was not youit was that fiend Mildmay, Rachel Russells husband. Where is he? he has taken your name, and made you responsible for his devilish deeds. Help me, if you are a Christian! My sister is in his hands, curse him! Help me, for the sake of your name, to find them out. I am a stranger, and they will give me no information; but they will tell you. For Gods sake, ask and let me go after them. If ever you were beholden to the help of Christian men, help me! for it is life and death! Mildmay! Rachel Russells husband? under my name? said Mr. Fordham, slowly. I have been beholden to Christian men, and that for very life. You make a strong appeal who are you that are so desperate? and what was that you said? I am Susan Vincents brother, said the young Nonconformist; that is enough. This devil has taken your name; help me, for heavens sake, to find him out! Mildmay?devil? yes, he is a devil! you are right enough I owe him no love, said Fordham; then he paused and turned away, as if in momentary perplexity. To help that villain to his reward would be a mans duty; but, said the stranger, with a heavy sigh, upon which his words came involuntarily, spoken to himself, breathing out of his hearthe is her brother, devil though he is! Yes! cried Vincent, with passion, he is her brother. When he had said the words, the young man groaned aloud. Partly he forgot that this man, who looked upon him with so much curiosity, was the man who had brought tears and trembling to Her; partly he remembered it, and forgot his jealousy for the moment in a bitter sense of fellowfeeling. In his heart he could see her, waving her hand to him out of her passing carriage, with that smile for which he would have risked his life. Oh, hideous fate! it was her brother whom he was bound to pursue to the end of the world. He buried his face in his hands, in a momentary madness of anguish and passion. Susan floated away like a mist from that burning personal horizon. The love and the despair were too much for Vincent. The hope that had always been impossible was frantic now. When he recovered himself, the stranger whom he had thus unawares taken into his confidence was regarding him haughtily from the other side of the table, with a fiery light in his thoughtful eyes. Suspicion, jealousy, resentment, had begun to sparkle in those orbs, which in repose looked so far away and lay so calm. Mr. Fordham measured the haggard and wornout young man with a look of rising dislike and animosity. He was at least ten years older than the young Nonconformist, who stood there in his wretchedness and exhaustion entirely at disadvantage, looking, in his halfclerical dress, which he had not changed for fourandtwenty hours, as different as can be conceived from the scrupulously dressed gentleman in his easy morning habiliments, which would not have been out of place in the rudest scene, yet spoke of personal nicety and highbreeding in every easy fold. Vincent himself felt the contrast with an instant flush of answering jealousy and passion. For a moment the two glanced at each other, conscious rivals, though not a word of explanation had been spoken. It was Mr. Fordham who spoke first, and in a somewhat hasty and imperious tone. You spoke of a ladyLady Western, I think. As it was you yourself who sought this interview, I may be pardoned if I stumble on a painful subject, he said, with some bitterness. I presume you know that lady by your tonewas it she who sent you to me? No? Then I confess your appeal to a total stranger seems to me singular, to say the least of it. Where is your proof that Colonel Mildmay has used my name? Proof is unnecessary, said Vincent, firing with kindred resentment; I have told you the fact, but I do not press my appeal, though it was made to your honour. Pardon me for intruding on you so long. I have now no time to lose. He turned away, stung in his hasty youthfulness by the appearance of contempt. He would condescend to ask no farther. When he was once more outside the parlour, he held up the halfsovereign, which he had kept ready in his hand, to the slovenly fellow in the striped jacket. Twice as much if you will tell where Colonel Mildmay is gone, he said, hurriedly. The man winked and nodded and pointed outside, but before Vincent could leave the room a hasty summons came from the parlour which he had just left. Then Mr. Fordham appeared at the door. If you will wait I will make what inquiries I can, said the stranger, with distant courtesy and seriousness. Excuse meI was taken by surprise but if you have suffered injury under my name, it is my business to vindicate myself. Come in. If you will take my advice, you will rest and refresh yourself before you pursue a man with all his wits about him. Wait for me here and I will bring you what information I can. You dont suppose I mean to play you false? he added, with prompt irritation, seeing that Vincent hesitated and did not at once return to the room. It was no relenting of heart that moved him to make this offer. It was with no softening of feeling that the young Nonconformist went back again and accepted it. They met like enemies, each on his honour. Mr. Fordham hastened out to acquit himself of that obligation. Vincent threw himself into a chair, and waited for the result. It was the first moment of rest and quiet he had known since the morning of the previous day, when he and his mother, alarmed but comparatively calm, had gone to see Mrs. Hilyard, who was now, like himself, wandering, with superior knowledge and more desperate passion, on the same track. To sit in this house in the suspicious silence, hearing the distant thrill of voices which might guide or foil him in his search; to think who it was whom he had engaged to help him in his terrible mission; to go over again in distracted gleams and snatches the brief little circle of time which had brought all this about, the group of figures into which his life had been absorbed,rapt the young man into a maze of excited musing, which his exhausted frame at once dulled and intensified. They seemed to stand round him, with their faces so new, yet so familiarthat needlewoman with her emphatic mouthMildmayLady Westernlast of all, this man, who was not Susans lovernot Susans destroyerbut a man to be trusted with lifeto death! Vincent put up his hands to put away from him that wonderful circle of strangers who shut out everything else in the worldeven his own lifefrom his eyes. What were they to him? he asked, with an unspeakable bitterness in his heart. Heaven help him! they were the real creatures for whom life and the world were madehe and his poor Susan the shadows to be absorbed into, and under them; and then, with a wild, bitter, hopeless rivalry, the mind of the poor Dissenting minister came round once more to the immediate contact in which he stoodto Fordham, in whose name his sisters life had been shipwrecked, and by whom, as he divined with cruel foresight, his own hopeless love and dreams were to be made an end of. Well! what better could they come to? but it was hard to think of him, with his patrician looks, his negligent grace, his conscious superiority, and to submit to accept assistance from him even in his sorest need. These thoughts were in his mind when Mr. Fordham hastily reentered the room. A thrill of excitement now was in the long, lightlyfalling step, which already Vincent, with the keen ear of rivalry almost as quick as that of love, could recognise as it approached. The stranger was disturbed out of his composure. He shut the door and came up to the young man, who rose to meet him, with a certain excited repugnance and attraction much like Vincents own feelings. You are quite right, he said, hastily; I find letters have been coming here for some months, addressed as if to me, which Mildmay has had. The man of the house is absent, or I should never have heard of it. I dont know what injury he may have done you; but this is an insult I dont forgive. Stop! I have every reason to believe that he has gone, said Fordham, growing darkly red, to a house of mine, to confirm this slander upon me. To prove that I am innocent of all share of itI dont mean to youyou believe me, I presume? he said, with a haughty sudden pause, looking straight in Vincents faceI will go Here Mr. Fordham stopped again, and once more looked at Vincent with that indescribable mixture of curiosity, dislike, resentment, and interest, which the eyes of the young Nonconformist repaid him fully,with youif you choose. At all events, I will go tonightto Fordham, where the scoundrel is. I cannot permit it to be believed for an hour that it is I who have done this villany. The lady you mentioned, I presume, knows?he added, sharplyknows what has happened, and whom you suspect? This must be set right at once. If you choose, we can go together. Where is the place? asked Vincent, without any answer to this proposition. Fordham looked at him with a certain haughty offence he had made the offer as though it were a very disagreeable expedient, but resented instantly the tacit neglect of it shown by his companion. In Northumberlandseven miles from the railway, he said, with a kind of gratification. Once more, I say, you can go with me if you will, which may serve us both. I dont pretend to be disinterested. My object is to have my reputation clear of this, at all events. Your object, I presume, is to get to your journeys end as early as may be. Choose for yourself. Fordham is between Durham and Morpethseven miles from Lamington station. You will find difficulty in getting there by yourself, and still greater difficulty in getting admission; and I repeat, if you choose it, you can go with meor I will accompany you, if that pleases you better. Either way, there is little time to consider. The train goes at eight or nine oclockI forget which. I have not dined. What shall you do? Thank you, said Vincent. It was perhaps a greater effort to him to overcome his involuntary repugnance than it was to the stranger beside him, who had all the superior ease of superior rank and age. The Nonconformist turned away his eyes from his new companion, and made a pretence of consulting his watch. I will take advantage of your offer, he said, coldly, withdrawing a step with instinctive reserve. On these diplomatic terms their engagement was made. Vincent declined to share the dinner which the other offered him, as one duellist might offer hospitality to another. He drove away in his hansom, with a restrained gravity of excitement, intent upon the hours rest and the meal which were essential to make him anything like a match for this unexpected travelling companion. Every morsel he attempted to swallow when in Carlingford under his mothers anxious eyes, choked the excited young man, but now he ate with a certain stern appetite, and even snatched an hours sleep and changed his dress, under this novel stimulant. Poor Susan, for whom her mother sat hopelessly watching with many a thrill of agony at home! Poor lost one, far away in the depths of the strange country in the night and darkness! Whether despair and horror enveloped her, or delirious false happiness and delusion, again she stood secondary even in her brothers thoughts. He tried to imagine it was she who occupied his mind, and wrote a hurried note to his mother to that purport; but with guilt and selfdisgust, knew in his own mind how often another shadow stood between him and his lost sistera shadow bitterly veiled from him, turning its sweetness and its smiles upon the man who was about to help him, against whom he gnashed his teeth in the anguish of his heart. CHAPTER XX. THEY were but these two in the railwaycarriage; no other passenger broke the silent conflict of their companionship. They sat in opposite corners, as far apart as their space would permit, but on opposite sides of the carriage as well, so that one could not move without betraying his every movement to the others keen observation. Each of them kept possession of a window, out of which he gazed into the visible blackness of the winter night. Two or three times in the course of the long darksome chilly journey, a laconic remark was made by one or the other with a deadly steadiness, and gravity, and facing of each other, as they spoke; but no further intercourse took place between them. When they first met, Fordham had made an attempt to draw his fellowtraveller into some repetition of that first passionate speech which had secured his own attention to Vincent; but the young Nonconformist perceived the attempt, and resented it with sullen offence and gloom. He took the strangers indifference to his trouble, and undisguised and simple purpose of acquitting himself, as somehow an affront, though he could not have explained how it was so; and this notwithstanding his own consciousness of realising this silent conflict and rivalry with Fordham, even more deeply in his own person than he did the special misery which had befallen his house. Through the sullen silent midnight the train dashed on, the faint light flickering in the unsteady carriage, the two speechless figures, with eyes averted, watching each other through all the icecold hours. It was morning when they got out, cramped and frozen, at the little station, round which miles and miles of darkness, a black unfathomable ocean, seemed to lieand which shone there with its little red sparkle of light among its wild waste of moors like the one touch of human life in a desert. They had a dreary hour to wait in the little wooden room by the stifling fire, divided between the smothering atmosphere within and the thrilling cold without, before a conveyance could be procured for them, in which they set out shivering over the seven darkling miles between them and Fordham. Vincent stood apart in elaborate indifference and carelessness, when the squire was recognised and done homage to; and Fordhams eye, even while lighted up by the astonished delight of the welcome given him by the driver of the vehicle who first found him out, turned instinctively to the Mordecai in the corner who took no heed. No conversation between them diversified the black road along which they drove. Mr. Fordham took refuge in the driver, whom he asked all those questions about the people of the neighbourhood which are so interesting to the inhabitants of a district and so wearisome to strangers. Vincent, who sat in the dogcart with his face turned the other way, suffered himself to be carried through the darkness by the powerful horse, which made his own seat a somewhat perilous one, with nothing so decided in his thoughts as a dumb sense of opposition and resistance. The general misery of his mind and bodythe sense that all the firmament around him was black as this skythe restless wretchedness that oppressed his heartall concentrated into conscious rebellion and enmity. He seemed to himself at war, not only with Mr. Fordham who was helping him, but with God and life. Morning was breaking when they reached the house. The previous day, as it dawned chilly over the world, had revealed his mothers ashy face to Vincent as they came up from Lonsdale with sickening thrills of hope that Susan might still be found unharmed. Here was another horror of a new day rising, the third since Susan disappeared into that darkness which was now lifting in shuddering mists from the bleak country round. Was she here in her shame, the lost creature? As he began to ask himself that question, what cruel spirit was it that drew aside a veil of years, and showed to the unhappy brother that prettiest dancing figure, all smiles and sunshine, sweet honour and hope? Poor lost child! what sweet eyes, lost in an unfathomable light of joy and confidencewhat truthful looks, which feared no evil! Just as they came in sight of that hidden house, where perhaps the hidden, stolen creature lay in the darkness, the brightest picture flashed back upon Vincents eyes with an indescribably subtle anguish of contrast; how he had come up to her oncethe frank, fair Saxon girlin the midst of a group of gypsieshow he found she had done a service to one of them, and the whole tribe did homagehow he had asked, Were you not afraid, Susan? and how the girl had looked up at him with undoubting eyes, and answered, Afraid, Arthur?yes, of wild beasts if I saw them, not of men and women. Oh Heaven!and here he was going to find her in shame and ruin, hidden away in this secret place! He sprang to the ground before the vehicle had stopped, jarring his frozen limbs. He could not bear to be second now, and follow to the dread discovery which should be his alone. He rushed through the shrubbery without asking any question, and began to knock violently at the door. What did it matter to him though its master was there, looking on with folded arms and unsympathetic face? Natural love rushed back upon the young mans heart. He settled with himself, as he stood waiting, how he would wrap her in his coat, and hurry her away without letting any cold eye fall upon the lost creature. Oh, hard and cruel fate! oh, wonderful heartbreaking indifference of Heaven! The Innocents are murdered, and God looks on like a man, and does not interfere. Such were the broken thoughts of miseryhalfthought, halfrecollectionthat ran through Vincents mind as he knocked at the echoing door. Eugh! you may knock, and better knock, and Ise undertake none comes at the ca, said the driver, not without a little complacence. I tell the Squire, as there hant been man nor woman here for ages; but he dont believe me. Shes deaf as a post, is the housekeeper; and her daughter, shes more to do nor hear when folks is wanting inand this hour in the morning! But canny, canny, man! hell have the door staved in if we all stand by and the Squire dont interfere. Vincent paid no attention to the remonstrancewhich, indeed, he only remembered afterwards, and did not hear at the moment. The house was closely shut in with trees, which made the gloom of morning darker here than in the open road, and increased the aspect of secrecy which had impressed the young mans excited imagination. While he went on knocking, Fordham alighted and went round to another entrance, where he too began to knock, calling at the same time to the unseen keepers of the place. After a while some answering sounds became audiblefirst the feeble yelping of an asthmatic dog, then a commotion upstairs, and at last a window was thrown up, and a female head enveloped in a shawl looked out. Eh, whae are ye? vagabond villains,and this a gentlemans house, cried a cracked voice. Ill let the Squire knowIll rouse the manservants. Tramps! what are you wanting here? The driver of the dogcart took up the response well pleased. He announced the arrival of the Squire, to the profound agitation of the house, which showed itself in a variety of scuffling sounds and the wildest exclamations of wonder. Vincent leaned his throbbing head against the door, and waited in a dull fever of impatience and excitement, as these noises gradually came nearer. When the door itself was reached and hasty hands began to unfasten its bolts, Susans brother pressed alone upon the threshold, forgetful and indifferent that the master of the house stood behind, watching him with close and keen observation. He forgot whose house it was, and all about his companion. What were such circumstances to him, as he approached the conclusion of his search, and thought every moment to hear poor Susans cry of shame and terror? He made one hasty stride into the hall when the door was open, and looked round him with burning eyes. The wonder with which the women inside looked at him, their outcry of disappointment and anger when they found him a stranger, coming first as he did, and throwing the Squire entirely into the shade, had no effect upon the young man, who was by this time half frantic. He went up to the elder woman and grasped her by the arm. Where is she? show me the way! he said, hoarsely, unable to utter an unnecessary word. He held the terrified woman fast, and thrust her before him, he could not tell where, into the unknown house, all dark and miserable in the wretchedness of the dawn. Show me the way! he cried, with his broken hoarse voice. A confused and inarticulate scene ensued, which Vincent remembered afterwards only like a dream; the womans screamthe interference of Fordham, upon whom his fellowtraveller turned with sudden furythe explanation to which he listened without understanding it, and which at first roused him to wild rage as a pretence and falsehood. But even Vincent at last, struggling into soberer consciousness as the day broadened ever chiller and more grey over the little group of strange faces round him, came to understand and make out that both Fordham and he had been deceived. Nobody had been thereletters addressed both to Fordham himself, and to Colonel Mildmay, had been for some days received; but these, it appeared, were only a snare laid to withdraw the pursuers from the right scent. Not to be convinced, in the sullen stupor of his excitement, Vincent followed Fordham into all the gloomy corners of the neglected houseseeing everything without knowing what he saw. But one thing was plain beyond the possibility of doubt, that Susan was not there. I am to blame for this fruitless journey, said Fordham, with a touch of sympathy more than he had yet exhibited; perhaps personal feeling had too much share in it; now I trust you will have some breakfast before you set out again. So far as my assistance can be of any use to you I thank you, said Vincent, coldly; it is a business in which a stranger can have no interest. You have done all you cared to do, continued the young man, hastily gathering up the overcoat which he had thrown down on entering; you have vindicated yourselfI will trouble you no further. If I encounter any one interested in Mr. Fordham, he concluded, with difficulty and bitterness, but with a natural generosity which, even in his despair, he could not belie, I will do him justice. He made an abrupt end, and turned away, not another word being possible to him. Fordham, not without a sentiment of sympathy, followed him to the door, urging refreshment, rest, even his own society, upon his companion of the night. Vincents face, more and more haggardhis exhausted excited airthe poignant wretchedness of his youth, on which the older man looked, not without reminiscences, awoke the sympathy and compassion of the lookeron, even in the midst of less kindly emotions. But Fordhams sympathy was intolerable to poor Vincent. He took his seat with a sullen weariness once more by the talkative driver, who gave him an unheeded history of all the Fordhams. As they drove along the bleak moorland road, an early churchbell tingled into the silence, and struck, with horrible iron echoes, upon the heart of the minister of Salem. Sunday morning! Life all disordered, incoherent, desperateall its usages set at nought and duties left behind. Nothing could have added the final touch of conscious derangement and desperation like the sound of that bell; all his existence and its surroundings floated about him in feverish clouds, as it came to his mind that this wild morning, hysterical with fatigue and excitement, was the Sundaythe day of his special laboursthe central point of all his former life. Chaos gloomed around the poor minister, who, in his misery, was human enough to remember Beechers smile and Phbe Tozers invitation, and to realise how all the Chapel folks would compare notes, and contrast their own pastor, to whom they had become accustomed, with the new voice from Homerton, which, half in pride and half in disgust, Vincent acknowledged to be more in their way. He fancied he could see them all collecting into their mean pews, prepared to inaugurate the coorse for which Tozer had struggled, and the offence upon their faces when the ministers absence was known, and the sharp stimulus which that offence would give to their appreciation of the new preacherall this, while he was driving over the bleak Northumberland wilds, with the cutting wind from the hills in his face, and the churchbell in his distracted ear, breaking the Sunday! Not a bright spot, so far as he could perceive, was anywhere around him, in earth, or sky, or sea. Sunday night!once more the churchbells, the churchgoing groups, the floating world, which he had many a time upbraided from the pulpit seeking its pleasure. But it was in London now, where he stood in utter exhaustion, but incapable of rest, not knowing where to turn. Then the thought occurred to him that something might be learned at the railway stations of a party which few people could see without remarking it. He waited till the bustle of arrival was over, and then began to question the porters. One after another shook his head, and had nothing to say. But the men were interested, and gathered in a little knot round him, trying what they could recollect, with the ready humanity of their class. Id speak to the detective police, sir, if I was you, suggested one; its them as finds out all that happens nowadays. Then a little gleam of light penetrated the darkness. One man began to recall a lighthaired gentleman with a mustache, and two ladies, who went off sudden in a cab, with no luggage. An uncommon swell he did look, said the porter, instinctively touching his cap to Vincent, on the strength of the connection; and, my eyes! she was a beauty, that one in the blue veil. It waslet me seeWednesday night; nonot Wednesdaythat day as the uptrain was an hour lateFriday afternoon, to be sure. It was me as called the cab, and I wont deny as the genleman was a genleman. Went to the London Bridge station, sir; Dover line; no luggage; I took particular notice at the time, though it went out o my head first minute as you asked me.Cab, sir? Yes. Here you areheres the last on the stand.London Bridge Station, Dover line. Vincent took no time to inquire further. In the impatience of his utter weariness and wretchedness, he seized on this slight clue, and went off at once to follow it out. London Bridge station!what a world swarmed in those streets through which the anxious minister took his way, far too deeply absorbed in himself to think of the flood of souls that poured past him. The station was in wild bustle and commotion; a train just on the eve of starting, and late passengers dashing towards it with nervous speed. Vincent followed the tide instinctively, and stood aside to watch the long line of carriages set in motion. He was not thinking of what he saw; his whole mind was set upon the inquiry, which, as soon as that object of universal interest was gone, he could set on foot among the officials who were clanging the doors, and uttering all the final shrieks of departure. Now the tedious line glides into gradual motion. Good Heaven! what was that? the flash of a match, a sudden gleam upon vacant cushions, the profile of a face, highfeatured, with the thin light locks and shadowy mustache he knew so well, standing out for a moment in aquiline distinctness against the moving space. Vincent rushed forward with a hoarse shout, which scared the crowd around him. He threw himself upon the moving train with a desperate attempt to seize and stop it; but only to be himself seized by the frantic attendants, who caught him with a dozen hands. The travellers in the later carriages were startled by the commotion. Some of them rose and looked out with surprised looks; he saw them all as they glided past, though the passage was instantaneous. Saw them all! Yes; who was that, last of all, at the narrow window of a secondclass carriage, who looked out with no surprise, but with a horrible composure in her white face, and recognised him with a look which chilled him to stone. He stood passive in the hands of the men, who had been struggling to hold him, after he encountered those eyes; he shuddered with a sudden horror, which made the crowd gather closer, believing him a maniac. Now it was gone into the black night, into the chill space, carrying a hundred innocent souls and light hearts, and among them deadly crime and vengeancethe doomed man and his executioner. His very heart shuddered in his breast as he made a faltering effort to explain himself, and get free from the crowd which thought him mad. That sight quenched the curses on his own lips, paled the fire in his heart. To see her dogging his steps, with her dreadful relentless promise in her eyes, overwhelmed Vincent, who a moment before had thrilled with all the rage of a man upon whom this villain had brought the direst shame and calamity.