m no one that I have returned from
Paris. I am now going out for the day.'

'Yes, sir.'

Hugo thereupon took train to Ealing. He walked circuitously through the
middle of the day from Ealing to Harrow, alone with his thoughts in the
frosty landscape. From Harrow he travelled by express to Euston,
reaching town at five-thirty. Somehow or other the day had passed. He
got to Sloane Street at six, and ascended direct to his central office.

Had his orders been executed? Would she be waiting? As he hesitated
outside the door he was conscious that his whole frame shook. He entered
silently.

Yes, she was there. She sat on the edge of a chair near the fire,
staring at the fire. She was dressed in the customary black. Ah! it was
the very face he had seen in the coffin, the same marvellous and
incomparable features; not even sadder, not aged by a day; the same!

She turned at the sound of the closing of the door, and, upon seeing
him, started slightly. Then she rose, and delicately blushed.

'Good-evening, Mr. Hugo,' she said, in a low, calm voice. 'I did not
expect to see you.'

Great poetical phrases should have rushed to his lips--phrases meet for
a tremendous occasion. But they did not. He sighed. 'I can only say what
comes into my head,' he thought ruefully. And he said:

'Did I startle you?'

'Not much,' she replied. 'I knew I must meet you one day or another
soon. And it is better at once.'

'Just so,' he said. 'It _is_ better at once. Sit down, please. I've been
walking all day, and I can scarcely stand.' And he dropped into a chair.
'Do you know, dear lady,' he proceeded, 'that Doctor Darcy and I have
been hunting for you all over Paris?'

He managed to get a little jocularity into his tone, and this
achievement eased his attitude.

'No,' she said, 'I didn't know. I'm very sorry.'

'But why didn't you let Darcy know that you were coming to London?'

'Mr. Hugo,' she answered, with a charming gesture, 'I will tell you.'
And she got up from her chair and came to another one nearer his own.
This delicious action filled him with profound bliss. 'When I read in
the paper that Mr. Ravengar had committed suicide, I had just enough
money in my pocket to pay my expenses to London, and to keep me a few
days here. And I did so want to come! I did so want to come! I came by
the morning train. It was an inspiration. I waited for nothing. I meant
to write to Mr. Darcy that same night, but that same night I caught
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