nd what was
she like?"

"She was there a second ago," he said, pointing to the pillar, "but I've
lost her now--I fancy she went towards the railway station, but I could
not see. Stop, is that she?" and he pointed to a tall person walking
towards the Abbey.

Quickly they moved to intercept her, but the result was not
satisfactory, and they retreated hastily from the object of their
attentions.

Meanwhile Beatrice found herself opposite the entrance to the
Westminster Bridge Station. A hansom was standing there; she got into it
and told the man to drive to Paddington.

Before the pair had retraced their steps she was gone. "She has
vanished again," said "Tom," and went on to give a description of her to
Geoffrey. Of her dress he had unfortunately taken little note. It might
be one of Beatrice's, or it might not. It seemed almost inconceivable to
Geoffrey that she should be masquerading about London, under the name of
Mrs. Everston. And yet--and yet--he could have sworn--but it was folly!

Suddenly he bade his friend good-night, and took a hansom. "The mystery
thickens," said the astonished "Tom," as he watched him drive away.
"I would give a hundred pounds to find out what it all means. Oh! that
woman's face--it haunts me. It looked like the face of an angel bidding
farewell to Heaven."

But he never did find out any more about it, though the despairing eyes
of Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still sometimes haunt his
sleep.

Geoffrey reflected rapidly. The thing was ridiculous, and yet it was
possible. Beyond that brief line in answer to his letter, he had heard
nothing from Beatrice. Indeed he was waiting to hear from her before
taking any further step. But even supposing she were in London, where
was he to look for her? He knew that she had no money, he could not
stay there long. It occurred to him there was a train leaving Euston for
Wales about four in the morning. It was just possible that she might
be in town, and returning by this train. He told the cabman to drive to
Euston Station, and on arrival, closely questioned a sleepy porter, but
without satisfactory results.

Then he searched the station; there were no traces of Beatrice. He did
more; he sat down, weary as he was, and waited for an hour and a
half, till it was time for the train to start. There were but three
passengers, and none of them in the least resembled Beatrice.

"It is very strange," Geoffrey said to himself, as he walked aw