of
no use, Mr. Bashwood--but I am obliged to you for your offer, all the
same." He stopped, and considered a little, "Suppose she should _not_ be
ill? Suppose some misfortune should have happened?" he resumed, speaking
to himself, and turning again toward the steward. "If she has left
her mother, some trace of her _might_ be found by inquiring at Thorpe
Ambrose."

Mr. Bashwood's curiosity was instantly aroused. The whole sex was
interesting to him now, for the sake of Miss Gwilt.

"A lady, sir?" he inquired. "Are you looking for a lady?"

"I am looking," said Midwinter, simply, "for my wife."

"Married, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Bashwood. "Married since I last had the
pleasure of seeing you! Might I take the liberty of asking--?"

Midwinter's eyes dropped uneasily to the ground.

"You knew the lady in former times," he said. "I have married Miss
Gwilt."

The steward started back as he might have started back from a loaded
pistol leveled at his head. His eyes glared as if he had suddenly lost
his senses, and the nervous trembling to which he was subject shook him
from head to foot.

"What's the matter?" said Midwinter. There was no answer. "What is there
so very startling," he went on, a little impatiently, "in Miss Gwilt's
being my wife?"

"_Your_ wife?" repeated Mr. Bashwood, helplessly. "Mrs. Armadale--!" He
checked himself by a desperate effort, and said no more.

The stupor of astonishment which possessed the steward was instantly
reflected in Midwinter's face. The name in which he had secretly married
his wife had passed the lips of the last man in the world whom he would
have dreamed of admitting into his confidence! He took Mr. Bashwood by
the arm, and led him away to a quieter part of the terminus than the
part of it in which they had hitherto spoken to each other.

"You referred to my wife just now," he said; "and you spoke of _Mrs.
Armadale_ in the same breath. What do you mean by that?"

Again there was no answer. Utterly incapable of understanding more than
that he had involved himself in some serious complication which was a
complete mystery to him, Mr. Bashwood struggled to extricate himself
from the grasp that was laid on him, and struggled in vain.

Midwinter sternly repeated the question. "I ask you again," he said,
"what do you mean by it?"

"Nothing, sir! I give you my word of honor, I meant nothing!" He felt
the hand on his arm tightening its grasp; he saw, even in the obscurity
of the r