nable "season" about now, isn't there? I suppose that would
account for it.'

He spoke in a slighting tone, but showed increasing agitation.

'Of course you will go?'

'I must. Though I'm in no condition for making a journey.'

His friend examined him anxiously.

'Are you feverish at all this evening?'

Reardon held out a hand that the other might feel his pulse. The beat
was rapid to begin with, and had been heightened since the arrival of
the telegram.

'But go I must. The poor little fellow has no great place in my heart,
but, when Amy sends for me, I must go. Perhaps things are at the worst.'

'When is there a train? Have you a time table?'

Biffen was despatched to the nearest shop to purchase one, and in the
meanwhile Reardon packed a few necessaries in a small travelling-bag,
ancient and worn, but the object of his affection because it had
accompanied him on his wanderings in the South. When Harold returned,
his appearance excited Reardon's astonishment--he was white from head to
foot.

'Snow?'

'It must have been falling heavily for an hour or more.'

'Can't be helped; I must go.'

The nearest station for departure was London Bridge, and the next train
left at 7.20. By Reardon's watch it was now about five minutes to seven.

'I don't know whether it's possible,' he said, in confused hurry, 'but I
must try. There isn't another train till ten past nine. Come with me to
the station, Biffen.'

Both were ready. They rushed from the house, and sped through the soft,
steady fall of snowflakes into Upper Street. Here they were several
minutes before they found a disengaged cab. Questioning the driver,
they learnt what they would have known very well already but for their
excitement: impossible to get to London Bridge Station in a quarter of
an hour.

'Better to go on, all the same,' was Reardon's opinion. 'If the snow
gets deep I shall perhaps not be able to have a cab at all. But you had
better not come; I forgot that you are as much out of sorts as I am.'

'How can you wait a couple of hours alone? In with you!'

'Diphtheria is pretty sure to be fatal to a child of that age, isn't
it?' Reardon asked when they were speeding along City Road.

'I'm afraid there's much danger.'

'Why did she send?'

'What an absurd question! You seem to have got into a thoroughly morbid
state of mind about her. Do be human, and put away your obstinate
folly.'

'In my position you would have acted precisely as