calamity which, to
the refined, sensitive mind of Lionel Verner, was almost worse than
death itself.

What would the journey bring forth for him? Should he succeed in seeing
Captain Cannonby? He awaited the fiat with feverish heat; and wished the
fast express engine would travel faster.

The terminus gained at last, a hansom took him to Dr. Cannonby's. It was
half-past two o'clock. He leaped out of the cab and rang, entering the
hall when the door was opened.

"Can I see Dr. Cannonby?"

"The doctor's just gone out, sir. He will be home at five."

It was a sort of checkmate, and Lionel stood looking at the servant--as
if the man could telegraph some impossible aerial message to his master
to bring him back then.

"Is Captain Cannonby staying here?" was his next question.

"No, sir. He was staying here, but he went away this morning."

"He is home from Paris then?"

"He came back two or three days ago, sir," replied the servant.

"Do you know where he is gone?"

"I don't, sir. I fancy it's somewhere in the country."

"Dr. Cannonby would know?"

"I dare say he would, sir. I should think so."

Lionel turned to the door. Where was the use of his lingering? He looked
back to ask a question.

"You are sure that Captain Cannonby has gone out of town?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

He descended the steps, and the man closed the door upon him. Where
should he go? What should he do with himself for the next two and a half
mortal hours? Go to his club? Or to any of the old spots of his London
life? Not he; some familiar faces might be in town; and he was in no
mood for familiar faces then.

Sauntering hither, sauntering thither, he came to Westminster Bridge.
One of the steamers was approaching the pier to take in passengers, on
its way down the river. For want of some other mode in which to employ
his time, Lionel went down to the embarking place, and stepped on board.

Does _any_thing in this world happen by chance? What secret unknown
impulse could have sent Lionel Verner on board that steamer? Had Dr.
Cannonby been at home he would not have gone near it; had he turned to
the right hand instead of to the left, on leaving Dr. Cannonby's house,
the boat would never have seen him.

It was not crowded, as those steamers sometimes are crowded, suggesting
visions of the bottom of the river. The day was fine; warm for
September, but not too hot; the gliding down the stream delightful. With
a heart at ease, Lionel would ha