r orders. Sit down by the open
window; let the wind blow over you."

The railway service from Sydenham to London is a late service. At a few
minutes before midnight they were in time for the last train. When they
left the station, Catherine was calm enough to communicate her plans
for the future. The nearest hotel to the terminus would offer them
accommodation for that night. On the next day they could find some
quiet place in the country--no matter where, so long as they were
not disturbed. "Give me rest and peace, and my mind will be easier,"
Catherine said. "Let nobody know where to find me."

These conditions were strictly observed--with an exception in favor of
Mr. Sarrazin. While his client's pecuniary affairs were still unsettled,
the lawyer had his claim to be taken into her confidence.

* * * * *

The next morning found Captain Bennydeck still keeping his rooms at
Sydenham. The state of his mind presented a complete contrast to the
state of Catherine's mind. So far from sharing her aversion to the
personal associations which were connected with the hotel, he found his
one consolation in visiting the scenes which reminded him of the beloved
woman whom he had lost. The reason for this was not far to seek. His was
the largest nature, and his had been the most devoted love.

As usual, his letters were forwarded to him from his place of residence
in London. Those addressed in handwritings that he knew were the first
that he read. The others he took out with him to that sequestered part
of the garden in which he had passed the happiest hours of his life by
Catherine's side.

He had been thinking of her all the morning; he was thinking of her now.

His better judgment protested; his accusing conscience warned him that
he was committing, not only an act of folly but (with his religious
convictions) an act of sin--and still she held her place in his
thoughts. The manager had told him of her sudden departure from the
hotel, and had declared with perfect truth that the place of her
destination had not been communicated to him. Asked if she had left
no directions relating to her correspondence, he had replied that his
instructions were to forward all letters to her lawyer. On the point of
inquiring next for the name and address, Bennydeck's sense of duty and
sense of shame (roused at last) filled him with a timely contempt for
himself. In feeling tempted to write to Catherine--in encouraging fond
thoug