he saw
all that Betty had seen, though the summer had passed, and there were
neither green trees nor hedges. He knew all that the long letters had
meant of stirred emotion and affection, and he was strongly moved,
though his mind was full of many things. There were the farmhouses,
the square-towered churches, the red-pointed hop oasts, and the village
children. How distinctly she had made him see them! His Betty--his
splendid Betty! His heart beat at the thought of seeing her high, young
black head, and holding her safe in his arms again. Safe! He resented
having used the word, because there was a shock in seeming to admit the
possibility that anything in the universe could do wrong to her. Yet one
man had been villain enough to mean her harm, and to threaten her
with it. He slightly shuddered as he thought of how the man was
finished--done for.

The train began to puff more loudly, as it slackened its pace. It was
drawing near to a rustic little station, and, as it passed in, he saw a
carriage standing outside, waiting on the road, and a footman in a
long coat, glancing into each window as the train went by. Two or three
country people were watching it intently. Miss Vanderpoel's father
was coming up from London on it. The stationmaster rushed to open the
carriage door, and the footman hastened forward, but a tall lovely thing
in grey was opposite the step as Mr. Vanderpoel descended it to the
platform. She did not recognise the presence of any other human
being than himself. For the moment she seemed to forget even the
broad-shouldered man who had plainly come with her. As Reuben S.
Vanderpoel folded her in his arms, she folded him and kissed him as he
was not sure she had ever kissed him before.

"My splendid Betty! My own fine girl!" he said.

And when she cried out "Father! Father!" she bent and kissed the breast
of his coat.

He knew who the big young man was before she turned to present him.

"This is Lord Mount Dunstan, father," she said. "Since Nigel was brought
home, he has been very good to us."

Reuben S. Vanderpoel looked well into the man's eyes, as he shook hands
with him warmly, and this was what he said to himself:

"Yes, she's safe. This is quite safe. It is to be trusted with the whole
thing."

Not many days after her husband's arrival at Stornham Court, Mrs.
Vanderpoel travelled down from London, and, during her journey, scarcely
saw the wintry hedges and bare trees, because, as she sat in