She knew he was disposed to
catch at anything that seemed to tell against Godwin's claims to
respectful treatment, and it surely must be a grave affair to hurry him
on so long a journey. Though she could imagine no ground of fear, the
situation was seriously disturbing.

She tried to go on with her letter, but failed. As Buckland smoked in
silence, she at length rose and said she would go upstairs.

'All right! Shall see you at breakfast. Good-night!'

At nine next morning Mrs. Warricombe sent a message to Buckland that
she wished to see him in her bedroom. He entered hurriedly.

'Cold better, mother? I have only just time to drink a cup of coffee. I
want to catch Peak before he can have left home.'

'Mr. Peak? Why? I was going to speak about him.'

'What were you going to say?' Buckland asked, anxiously.

His mother began in a roundabout way which threatened long detention.
In a minute or two Buckland had gathered enough to interrupt her with
the direct inquiry:

'You don't mean that there's anything between him and Sidwell?'

'I do hope not; but I can't imagine why she should--really, almost make
a private appointment. I am very uneasy, Buckland. I have hardly slept.
Sidwell is rather--you know'----

'The deuce! I can't stop now. Wait an hour or two, and I shall have
seen the fellow. You needn't alarm yourself. He will probably have
disappeared in a few days.'

'What do you mean?' Mrs. Warricombe asked, with nervous eagerness.

'I'll explain afterwards.'

He hurried away. Sidwell was at the breakfast-table. Her eyes seemed to
declare that she had not slept well. With an insignificant word or two,
the young man swallowed his cup of coffee, and had soon left the house.

CHAPTER III

The wrath which illumined Buckland's countenance as he strode rapidly
towards Longbrook Street was not unmingled with joy. In the deep pocket
of his ulster lay something heavy which kept striking against his leg,
and every such contact spurred him with a sense of satisfaction. All
his suspicions were abundantly justified. Not only would his father and
Sidwell be obliged to confess that his insight had been profounder than
theirs, but he had the pleasure of standing justified before his own
conscience. The philosophy by which he lived was strikingly illustrated
and confirmed.

He sniffed the morning air, enjoyed the firmness of the frozen ground,
on which his boots made a pleasant thud. To be sure, the interview
befo