rture. There were now two things to be done, one to follow her
down to where she was staying--for he had ascertained her address from
Mrs. Jacobs; the other, to return home and come back on the morrow.
For reasons which appeared to him imperative, but which need not be
entered into here, he decided on the latter course; so leaving a note
for his wife, he drove, in a very bad temper, back to Paddington in
time to catch the five o'clock train to Roxham.

Let us now return to the Abbey House, where, whilst Philip was cooling
his heels in Lincoln's Inn Fields, a rather curious scene was in
progress.

At one o'clock, old Mr. Caresfoot, as was his rule, sat down to lunch,
which, frugal as it was, so far as he was concerned, was yet served
with some old-fashioned ceremony by a butler and a footman. Just as
the meal was coming to an end, a fly, with some luggage on it, drove
up to the hall-door. The footman went to open it.

"Simmons," said the squire, to the old butler, "look out and tell me
who that is."

Simmons did as he was bid, and replied:

"I don't rightly know, squire; but it's a lady, and she be wonderful
tall."

Just then the footman returned, and said that a lady, who would not
give her name, wished to speak to him in private.

"Are you sure the lady did not mean Mr. Philip?"

"No, sir; she asked for Mr. Philip first, and when I told her that he
was out, she asked for you, sir. I have shown her into the study."

"Humph! at any rate, she has come off a journey, and must be hungry.
Set another place and ask her in here."

In another moment there was a rustle of a silk dress, and a lady,
arrayed in a long cloak and with a thick veil on, was shown into the
room. Mr. Caresfoot, rising with that courteous air for which he was
remarkable, bowed and begged her to be seated, and then motioned to
the servants to leave the room.

"Madam, I am told that you wish to speak to me; might I ask whom I
have the honour of addressing?"

She, with a rapid motion, removed her hat and veil, and exposed her
sternly beautiful face to his inquiring gaze.

"Do you not know me, Mr. Caresfoot?" she said, in her foreign accent.

"Surely, yes, you are the young lady who lived with Maria, Miss von
Holtzhausen."

"That _was_ my name; it is now Hilda Caresfoot. I am your son Philip's
wife."

As this astounding news broke upon his ears, her hearer's face became
a shifting study. Incredulity, wonder, fury, all swept across it, and