opposite seat, puts a cigar between his teeth, and forgets to light
it, closes his tired eyes, which only quickens and excites his
overwrought imagination, till finally the train steams into the drowsy
little station of Copthorne.

Philip walks at the fastest possible speed across the meadows. There
is the gate on which Eleanor perched herself the night before their
wedding, declaring she _would_ dangle her feet whether she was to be
Mrs. Roche or not.

Then the green lane, where she asked him to wait till the following
spring. He remembers her words distinctly. She had said them so
lightly in reference to their union: "When the birds begin to sing,
then I will marry you, Philip."

But he had proved himself the stronger, and carried off his prize that
same month.

Now the spring is here. The birds are singing--mocking, jeering. The
old farmhouse is in sight--he pauses.

Oh, what a moment of suspense!

No Eleanor comes across the garden to greet him. It all looks
dead--still.

He can hear Rover's feeble bark--the sound savours of decay.

Then Philip walks forward, and his shadow falls across the porch. The
bell peals.

Mrs. Grebby starts at the ring, and brushes past the little farmhouse
servant hurrying to the door.

"Why, it's never Mr. Roche!" she exclaims.

[Illustration: "Why, it's never Mr. Roche!" she exclaims.]

"Yes," he replies; "I have come for Eleanor. Where is she?"

Mrs. Grebby sinks on to the seat in the porch, and stares at him
open-mouthed.

"What do yer mean?" she gasps at last. "There ain't no harm come to my
dearie!"

She wrings her hands despairingly.

"Has Eleanor left you?" he asks in a voice so strangely unfamiliar that
he hardly knows it for his own.

"Three days ago. She went 'ome, to be sure, as bright and as bonny as
could be, looking that pretty, I says to my old man 'It's well she's
not travellin' alone.'"

"Who was with her?" questions Philip intently, mastering his intense
emotion.

"A friend what came the day you telegraphed. He said 'e'd see her back
safe and sound. I packed 'er clothes with my own hands, I did, she
never touched a thing, and we drove them both behind Black Bess to the
station, with Rover following at the wheel."

A low hiss breaks from Philip's lips.

"And this man," he asks fiercely, impatiently, biting his lips. "What
was he like?"

"Oh! 'e was a beautiful gentleman, so well dressed and handsome, Mr.,
let me see, Mr. Quint