'll wait for them on the bridge." She turned to
him as they passed through the hall. "Wouldn't you like something of
this sort to happen to you?" she asked.

No. He was perturbed enough as a spectator; he would not have been
himself engaged in the play.

"Why isn't everybody here?" she demanded, with a laugh that was again
nervous and almost hysterical. "Why isn't Addie Tristram here? Ah, and
your old Cholderton?"

"Hark, I hear wheels on the road," said Mr Neeld.

Mina looked hard at him. "She shall do right," she said, "and Harry
shall not go."

"Surely they'll make the best of a----?"

"Oh, we're not talking of your Ivers and your Broadleys!" she
interrupted indignantly. "If they were like that, we should never have
been where we are at all."

How true it was, how lamentably true! One had to presuppose Addie
Tristram, and turns of fortune or of chance wayward as Addie
herself--and to reckon with the same blood, now in young and living
veins.

"I can't bear it," whispered Mina.

"He'll expect you to be calm and composed," Neeld reminded her.

"Then give me a cigarette," she implored despairingly.

"I am not a smoker," said Mr Neeld.

"Oh, you really are the very last man----! Well, come on the bridge,"
groaned Mina.

They waited on the bridge, and the wheels drew near. They spoke no more.
They had found nothing to do. They could only wait. A fly came down the
road.

There they sat, side by side. Cecily was leaning forward, her eyes were
eager, and there was a bright touch of color on her cheeks; Harry leant
back, looking at her, not at Blent. He wore a quiet smile; his air was
very calm. He saw Mina and Neeld, and waved his hand to them. The fly
stopped opposite the bridge. He jumped out and assisted Cecily to
alight. In a moment she was in Mina's arms. The next, she recognized
Neeld's presence with a little cry of surprise. At a loss to account
for himself, the old man stood there in embarrassed wretchedness.

"I want you to wait," said Harry to the driver. "Put up in the stables,
and they'll give you something to eat. You must wait till I send you
word."

"Wait? Why is he to wait, Harry?" asked Cecily. Her tone was gay; she
was overflowing with joy and merriment. "Who's going away? Oh, is it
you, Mr Neeld?"

"I--I have a trap from Mr Iver's," he stammered.

"I may want to send a message," Harry explained. "Kind of you to come,
Mr Neeld."

"I--I must wish you joy," said Neeld, taking refuge