h interested in, and had been driven away in the closed
brougham by Tom Kettering to Chorlton, more than two hours ago. "I
thought it looked queer, when she didn't come back," said one of the
gentlemen who was blowed.

CHAPTER XXVI

HOW GWEN AND MRS. LAMPREY RODE TO STRIDES COTTAGE, AND FOUND DR.
NASH THERE. OF A LETTER FROM MAISIE'S SON, AND HOW IT HAD THROWN
HER BACK. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT WATCH. IMAGINATIONS OF SAPPS COURT.
PETER JACKSON'S NAMESAKE. HOW GWEN DREAMED OF DOLLY ON GENERAL
RAWNSLEY'S KNEE, AND WAS WAKED BY A SCREAM. READ ME ALOUD WHAT MY
SON SAYS! WHAT IS CALLED SNEERING. A MAG. A FLIMSY. HOW GWEN WAS
GOT TO BED, HALF ASLEEP. OLD MAISIE'S WILL. NOT UPSTAIRS OUT OF A
CARRIAGE, DOWNSTAIRS INTO A CARRIAGE. TWO STEPS BACK AND ONE
FORWARD. BEFORE THAT CLOCK STRIKES. _THEIR_ DAUGHTER

Whoever detected a thaw outside the house, by instinct at work within,
was an accurate weather-gauge. A wet, despairing moon was watching a
soaking world from a misty heaven; and chilly avalanches of undisguised
slush, that had been snow when the sun went down, were slipping on
acclivities and roofs, and clinging in vain to overhanging boughs, to
vanish utterly in pools and gutters and increasing rivulets. The
carriage-lamps of Gwen's conveyance, a closed brougham her father had
made a _sine qua non_ of her departure, shone on a highway that had seen
little traffic since the thaw set in, and that still had on it a memory
of fallen snow, and on either side of it the yielding shroud that had
made the land so white and would soon leave it so black. Never
mind!--the road was a better road, for all that it was heavier. No risk
now of a stumble on the ice, with the contingencies of a broken knee for
the horse, and an hour's tramp for its quorum!

The yew-tree in the little churchyard at Chorlton had still some
_coagulum_ of thaw-frost on it when the brougham plashed past the closed
lichgate, and left its ingrained melancholy to make the most of its
loneliness. Strides Cottage was just on ahead--five minutes at the most,
even on such a road. "They will be sure to be up, I suppose--one of them
at least," said Gwen to the woman in the carriage with her. It was Mrs.
Lamprey, whom Tom Kettering was to have driven back in any case, but not
in the brougham. Gwen had overruled her attempt to ride on the box, and
was sorry when she had done so. For she could not say afterwards:--"I'm
sure you