ieter ride back. Very well.
Gwen must see him, and Tom Kettering must be stopped going to bed, and
must be ready to drive her over to Grantley, if there is still a chance
to catch the up-train for Euston. Lutwyche may get things ready at once,
on the chance, and not lose a minute. Lupin is off, hotfoot, to the
Stables, to catch Mr. Sandys, and bring him round.

White and determined, after reading the message, Gwen retraces her
steps. Outside old Mrs. Picture's door comes a moment of irresolution,
but she quashes it and goes on. Old Maisie is not in bed yet--has not
really left that tempting fireside. She becomes conscious of a stir in
the house, following on a bell that she had supposed to be only a
belated absentee. She opens her door furtively and listens.

That is Gwen's voice surely, beyond the servants' quarter, speaking with
a respectful man. The scraps of speech that reach the listener's ear go
to show that he assents to do something out of the common, to oblige her
ladyship. Something is to happen at three-fifteen, which he will abet,
and be responsible for. Only it must be three-fifteen sharp, because
something--probably a train--is liable to punctuality.

Then a sound of an interview wound up, a completed compact. And that is
Gwen, returning. Old Maisie will not intrude on the event, whatever it
be. She must wait to hear to-morrow. So she closes her door, furtively,
as she opened it; and listens still, for the silences of the night to
reassert themselves. No more words are audible, but she is conscious
that voices continue, and that her Guardian Angel's is one. Then
footsteps, and a hand on the door. Then Gwen, white and determined
still, but speaking gently, to forestall alarm, and reassure misgiving.

"Dear Mrs. Picture, it's nothing--nothing to be alarmed about. But I
have to go up to London by the night train. See!--I will tell you what
it is. I have had this telegraphic message. Is it not wonderful that
this should be sent from London, a hundred miles off, two hours ago, and
that I should have it here to read now? It is from my cousin, Miss
Grahame. I am afraid she is dangerously ill, and I must go to her
because she is alone.... Yes--Maggie is very good, and so is Dr.
Dalrymple. But some friend should be with her or near her. So I must
go." She did not read the message, or show it.

"But my dear--my dear--is it right for you to go alone, in the dark....
Oh, if I were only young!..."

"I shall be al