ation.

"I will call a carriage for you," said Alden Lytton.

And he left his companion in the waiting-room while he went out and
selected a good carriage for her use.

Then he came back, took up her traveling-bag, drew her arm in his own,
and led her out to it.

"Where shall I tell the coachman to take you?" he inquired, when he had
placed her comfortably in her seat.

"To the Misses Cranes', Old Manor, near the Government House," she
answered.

Alden Lytton bowed and closed the door, gave the order to the coachman,
and then walked off to his own old quarters at the Henrico House.

The carriage started, but had not gone more than a quarter of a mile
when Mrs. Grey stopped it.

The coachman got off his box and came to the window to know her will.

"Turn into the old paper-mill road. I wish to call on a sick friend
there before going home. Go on. I will keep a lookout and stop you when
we get near the house."

The coachman touched his hat, remounted, and turned his horses' heads to
the required direction.

Mary Grey sat close on the left-hand side of the cushion, and drew the
curtain away, so that she could look through the window and watch their
course.

The night was clear, starlit and breezy after the hot September day.

It was still early, and the sidewalks were enlivened by young people
sauntering in front of their own houses to enjoy the refreshing evening
air, while the porches and door-steps were occupied by the elders taking
their ease in their own way.

But in the next mile the scene began to change, and instead of the
populous street, with its long rows of houses and the cheerful
sidewalks, there was a lonely road with detached dwellings and
occasional groups of people. In the second mile the scene changed again,
and there was an old turnpike, with here and there a solitary road-side
dwelling, with perhaps a man leaning over the front gate smoking his
pipe, or a pair of lovers billing and cooing under the starlit sky.

Mary Grey kept a bright lookout for the "haunted house," and presently
she recognized it, and saw a light shining through the little front
window under the vine-covered porch.

"He is there, poor wretch, sure enough, waiting for me. I feel a little
sorry for him, because he loves me so devotedly. But heigho! If I do not
spare myself, shall I spare him? No!" said Mary Grey to herself, as she
ordered the coachman to draw up.

He stopped and jumped off his box, and came and op