she
ordered the carriage for herself, caught the early train to Tripton, met
Herbert, by appointment, outside the station, and stood talking to him in
the fog by the wayside, where Vera suddenly burst upon their astonished
gaze.

There was nothing for it but to take Vera into their confidence; and they
were so much engrossed in their affairs that they entirely failed to
notice how mechanically she answered, and how apathetically she appeared
for the first few minutes to listen to their story. Presently, however,
she roused herself into a semblance of interest. She promised not to
betray the fact of the stolen interview, all the more readily because it
did not strike either of them to inquire what she herself was doing in
the Tripton road.

In the end Vera walked on slowly by herself, and the Shadonake carriage,
ordered to go along at a foot's pace from Sutton station towards Tripton,
picked both girls up and conveyed them safely, each to their respective
homes.

"You will never tell of me, will you, Vera?" said Beatrice to her, for
the twentieth time, ere they parted.

"Of course not; indeed, I would gladly help you if I could," she
answered, heartily.

"You will certainly be able to help us both very materially some day,"
said Beatrice, who had visions of being asked to stay at Kynaston, to
meet Herbert.

"I am afraid not," answered Vera, with a sigh. Already there was regret
in her mind for the good things of life which she had elected to
relinquish. "Put me down at this corner, Beatrice; I don't want to drive
up to the vicarage. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Vera--and--and you won't mind my saying it--but I like you so
much."

Vera smiled, and, with a kiss, the girls parted; and Mrs. Daintree never
heard after all the story of her sister's early visit to Tripton, for she
returned so soon that she had not yet been missed. The vicar and his
family had but just gathered round the breakfast-table, when, after
having divested herself of her walking garments, she came in quietly and
took her vacant place amongst them unnoticed and unquestioned.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LADY KYNASTON'S PLANS.

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night.

And ere a man hath power to say, "Behold!"
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

"Midsummer Night's Dream."

Sir John Kynaston sat alone in his old-bachelor rooms in London. They
w