ut a
dream. Could he telegraph? No, it was too late; the office at Bryngelly
would be closed--it was past eight now. But he could go. There was a
train leaving a little after nine--he should be there by half-past six
to-morrow. And Effie was ill--well, surely they could look after her for
twenty-four hours; she was in no danger, and he must go--he could not
bear this torturing suspense. Great God! how had she done the deed!

Geoffrey snatched a sheet of paper and tried to write. He could not, his
hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshment room
swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit took
effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a sheet of
paper:

"I have been called away upon important business and shall probably not
be back till Thursday morning. See that Effie is properly attended
to. If I am not back you must not go to the duchess's ball.--Geoffrey
Bingham."

Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoria and dispatched a
commissionaire with it. This done, he called a cab and bade the cabman
drive to Euston as fast as his horse could go.

CHAPTER XXX

AVE ATQUE VALE

That frightful journey--no nightmare was ever half so awful! But it came
to an end at last--there was the Bryngelly Station. Geoffrey sprang from
the train, and gave his ticket to the porter, glancing in his face as he
did so. Surely if there had been a tragedy the man would know of it, and
show signs of half-joyous emotion as is the fashion of such people when
something awful and mysterious has happened to somebody else. But
he showed no such symptoms, and a glimmer of hope found its way into
Geoffrey's tormented breast.

He left the station and walked rapidly towards the Vicarage. Those who
know what a pitch of horror suspense can reach may imagine his feelings
as he did so. But it was soon to be put an end to now. As he drew
near the Vicarage gate he met the fat Welsh servant girl Betty running
towards him. Then hope left Geoffrey.

The girl recognised him, and in her confusion did not seem in the least
astonished to see him walking there at a quarter to seven on a summer
morning. Indeed, even she vaguely connected Geoffrey with Beatrice in
her mind, for she at once said in her thick English:

"Oh, sir, do you know where Miss Beatrice is?"

"No," he answered, catching at a railing for support. "Why do you ask? I
have not seen her for weeks."

Then the girl plunged into a l