he was a good gyurl, as nate an' swate as a picter, whin she lift the
cornel's lady's sarvice, an' wint an' tuk up wid Carruthers, a foine man
an' a sponsible, not a bit loike the common Scotch. Carruthers and her,
they axed me wud Oi go an' pay thim a visit, an' say to the comfort av
her young lady on the way."

"What young lady?" asked Coristine, and immediately repented the
question.

"Miss Jewplesshy, to be sure, the cornel's darter, and an illigant wan
she is, av she has to make her livin' by the wroitin'."

At this juncture, the lawyer, with lively satisfaction, hailed the
arrival of Frank, who came straight towards him.

"Are you Mr. Coristine, the lawyer?" he half whispered. "Yes; that's my
name," his victim replied, thinking that Wilkinson had sent him a
message.

"Well, there's a lady in the rear car wanted to know, and I said I'd
find out."

"Fwhat's that you'll be sayin' av a lady in the rare car, my lad?"
questioned the old soldier, who had overheard part of the conversation.

"It's the tall girl in the travelling duster and the blue ribbons that
wants to know if Mr. Coristine is here."

"Fwhat? my own dare young mishtress, Miss Ceshile Jewplesshy; shure it's
her that do have the blue ribbins, an' the dushter. Do yeez know that
swate young crathur, Sor?"

"I do not," replied Coristine abruptly, and added, _sotto voce_, "thank
goodness!" Then he relit his pipe, and buried his head in the Puck book,
from the contemplation of which the Irish veteran was too polite to seek
to withdraw his attention. In a few minutes, the door opened and closed
with a slam, and Wilkinson, pale and trembling, stood before him.

"Eugene, my dear friend," he stammered, "I'll never forgive myself for
leading you and me into a trap, a confounded, diabolical, deep-laid
trap, sir, a gin, a snare, a woman's wile. Let us get off anywhere, at
Aurora, Newmarket, Holland Landing, Scanlans, anywhere to escape these
harpies."

"What's the matter, old man?" enquired Coristine, with a poor attempt at
calmness.

"Matter!" replied Wilkinson, "it's this matter, that they have found us
out, and the girl with the cream coloured ribbons and crimson wrapper
has asked that villainous news-agent if my name is not Wilkinson, and if
I don't teach in the Sacheverell Street School. The rascal says her name
is Miss Marjorie Carmichael, the daughter of old Dr. Carmichael, that
was member for Vaughan, and that her friend, the long girl with the