ee to be helped by an uncle that can afford it. Well, as I was
saying, Mark came to me----'

Here a small Juggernaut car in the shape of a high-piled truck came
rolling down on them with a shout of, 'By your leave there, by your
leave!' from the unseen porter behind. Mark drew Vincent sharply
aside, and then saw Caffyn coming quickly towards them through the
crowd, and forgot the torpedo his uncle was doing his best to launch:
he felt that with Caffyn came safety. Caffyn, who had evidently been
hurrying, gave a sharp glance at the clock: 'Sorry to be late,' he
said, as he shook hands. 'Binny fetched me a hansom with a wobbling
old animal in it that ran down like a top when we'd got half-way; and
of course the main road was up for the last mile--however, I've just
done it. Come along, Holroyd, I've got a carriage.' And the three men
went off together, leaving Mr. Lightowler behind in a decidedly huffy
frame of mind.

'Good-bye, Mark,' said Vincent affectionately before he got in. 'We've
not had time to see much of one another, have we? I can't say how glad
I am, though, even to have had that. I shall try not to leave England
without seeing you once more; but, if we don't meet again, then
good-bye and God bless you, old boy! Write to me from abroad, and tell
me where you are. We mustn't lose touch of one another again--eh?'

'Good-bye,' said Caffyn, in a hurried voice before he followed. 'I've
got your Swiss address, haven't I? and if--if anything happens, you
shall hear from me.'

The next minute Mark stood back, and as the long line of
chocolate-and-white carriages rolled gently past he caught his last
sight of Vincent's face, with the look on it that he could not hope to
see again. He saw Caffyn too, who gave him a cool side-jerk of the
head at parting, with a smile which, when Mark recollected it later,
seemed to account for some of the uneasiness he felt. But, after all,
this desperate plan had prospered, thanks to Caffyn's unconscious
assistance. If Vincent had been gagged and bound and kept in a dungeon
cell till the wedding was over, he could hardly be more harmless than
he would be at Wastwater. Two more days--only two more--and the
calamity he dreaded even more than exposure would be averted for
ever--none but he would call Mabel Langton his wife! Thinking this as
he left the platform, he ran up against his uncle, whom he had
completely forgotten: he was harmless now as a safety match bereft of
its box, and