she was on the point of leaving without waiting for the
change, when the druggist called her back.

"Madame," said he, "you are leaving without your change."

Hilda started, and then turning back she took the change and thanked
him.

"I thought you said it was twenty shillings," she remarked, quietly,
seeing that the druggist was looking at her with a strange
expression.

"Oh no, madame; I said ten shillings."

"Ah! I misunderstood you," and with these words Hilda took her
departure, carrying with her the precious medicine.

That evening she left London, and took the steamer for Ostend. Before
leaving she had sent a telegraphic message to Gualtier at Frankfort,
announcing the fact that she was coming on, and asking him, if he
left Frankfort before her arrival, to leave a letter for her at the
hotel, letting her know where they might go. This she did for a
twofold motive: first, to let Gualtier know that she was coming, and
secondly, to secure a means of tracking them if they went to another
place. But the dispatch of this message filled her with fresh
anxiety. She feared first that the message might not reach its
destination in time; and then that Gualtier might utterly
misunderstand her motive--a thing which, under the circumstances, he
was certain to do--and, under this misapprehension, hurry up his
work, so as to have it completed by the time of her arrival. These
thoughts, with many others, agitated her so much that she gradually
worked herself into an agony of fear; and the swiftest speed of
steamboat or express train seemed slow to the desire of that stormy
spirit, which would have forced its way onward, far beyond the speed
which human contrivances may create, to the side of the man whom she
longed to see and to save. The fever of her fierce anxiety, the
vehemence of her desire, the intensity of her anguish, all worked
upon her delicate organization with direful effect. Her brain became
confused, and thoughts became dreams. For hours she lost all
consciousness of surrounding objects. Yet amidst all this confusion
of a diseased and overworked brain, and amidst this delirium of wild
thought, there was ever prominent her one idea--her one purpose. How
she passed that journey she could not afterward remember, but it was
at length passed, and, following the guidance of that strong purpose,
which kept its place in her mind when other things were lost, she at
last stood in the station-house at Frankfort.

"Dr