you had used it. All his plans
in life had been remade in reference to you."

They had stopped and were standing facing each other. They could not
walk and talk as they were talking.

"Yet, but," she exclaimed, her face pale and her eyes fixed steadfastly
upon him, "but what of that--"

"There are no yets and buts," he exclaimed, half angry with her that she
hesitated. "I know what you were going to say, but that woman you have
heard of is nothing to him. He hates her worse than you hate her. She
has imposed upon you; how I know not; but she is an impostor."

At this instant she seized him by the arm. "Mr. Easterfield," she cried,
and as she spoke the tears were running down her cheeks, "please let me
have a carriage--something covered! I would go on my wheel, for that
would be quicker, but I don't want anybody to speak to me or see me!
Will you have it brought to the back door, Mr. Easterfield, please? I
will run to the house, and be waiting when it comes."

She did not wait for him to answer. He did not ask her where she was
going. He knew very well. She ran to the house, and he hurried to the
stable.

Having given his orders, Mr. Tom went in search of his wife. The moment
had arrived when it was absolutely necessary to let her know what was
going on.

He found her in her own room. "Where on earth have you been?" she
exclaimed. "I have been looking everywhere for you."

In as few words as possible he told her where he had been, and what he
had done.

"And where are you going now?" she asked.

"I am going to change my coat," said the good Mr. Tom. "After my ride
to the toll-gate and back this jacket is too dusty for me to drive with
her."

"Drive with her" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "It will be very well for
you to get rid of some of that dust, but when the carriage comes I will
drive with Olive to see her uncle."

And thus it happened that Mr. Tom stayed at home with the house party
while the close carriage, containing his wife and that dear girl, Olive
Asher, rolled swiftly southward over the smooth turnpike road.

_CHAPTER XXVI_

_A Stop at the Toll-gate._

The four lovers at Broadstone walked, and wandered, and waited, after
breakfast that morning, but only one of them knew definitely what he was
waiting for, and that was Mr. Locker. He was waiting for half-past
twelve o'clock, when he would join Miss Asher, if she gave him an
opportunity; and he was sure she would give him one, for she