railway-guide, searched it in vain. Then, ordering from a waiter a map
of England, he eagerly searched Northamptonshire and discovered the
whereabouts of Woodnewton. Therefore, that night he left London for
Oundle, and put up at the old-fashioned "Talbot."

At ten o'clock on the following morning, after making a detour, he
alighted from a dogcart before the little inn called the Westmorland
Arms at Apethorpe, just outside the lodge-gates of Apethorpe Hall, and
making excuse to the groom that he was going for a walk, he set off at a
brisk pace over the little bridge and up the hill to Woodnewton.

The morning was dark and gloomy, with threatening rain, and the distance
was somewhat greater than he had calculated from the map. At last,
however, he came to the entrance to the long village street, with its
church and its rows of low thatched cottages.

A tiny inn, called the "White Lion," stood before him, therefore he
entered, and calling for some ale, commenced to chat with the old lady
who kept the place.

After the usual conventionalities about the weather, he said, "I suppose
you don't have very many strangers in Woodnewton, eh?"

"Not many, sir," was her reply. "We see a few people from Oundle and
Northampton in the summer--holiday folk. But that's all."

Then, by dint of skilful questioning, he elucidated the fact that old
Miss Heyburn lived in the tiled house further up the village, and that
her niece, who lived with her, had passed along with her dog about a
quarter of an hour before, and taken the footpath towards Southwick.

Ascertaining this, he was all anxiety to follow her; but, knowing how
sharp are village eyes upon a stranger, he was compelled to conceal his
eagerness, light another cigarette, and continue his chat.

At last, however, he wished the woman good-day, and, strolling half-way
up the village, turned into a narrow lane which led across a farmyard to
a footpath which ran across the fields, following a brook. Eager to
overtake the girl, he sped along as quickly as possible.

"Gabrielle Heyburn!" he ejaculated, speaking to himself. Her name was
all that escaped his lips. A dozen times that morning he had repeated
it, uttering it in a tone almost of wonder--almost of awe.

Across several ploughed fields he went, leaving the brook, and, skirting
a high hedge to the side of a small wood, he followed the well-trodden
path for nearly half-an-hour, when, of a sudden, he emerged from a
narrow la