a girl as mad as a hatter--well, I'll trouble you!'

'I myself can write M.D. after my name,' I replied,' and you are
related, I think, to Sir Runan Errand?'

'We are connections,' she said, not taking the point of my sarcasm. 'His
conduct rarely astonishes me. When I found, however, that this lady,
your sister, was his wife, I own, for once, I _was_ surprised.'

Feeling that this woman had the better of it, with her calm, polished,
highbred sarcasms, I walked back to the 'pike, full of hopes of a sweet
revenge.

As, however, I had never spoken to a baronet before, I could not but
fear that his lofty air of superior rank might daunt me when we met
to-morrow.

CHAPTER III.--Mes Gages! Mes Gages!

NEXT morning came, chill and grey, and reminded me that I had two
duties. I was to wait at home till Philippa came over from Mrs.
Thompson's, and I was also to hang about the road from the station, and
challenge Sir Runan to mortal combat. Can duties clash? They can. They
did! The hours lagged slowly by, while I read Sir Runan's letter, read
and re-read it, registered and re-registered (a pretty term of my own
invention) this vow of vengeance.

Philippa's 'things '--her boxes with all her properties--arrived in due
time.

Philippa did not.

I passed a distracted day, now bounding forth half way to the railway
station to meet Sir Runan, now speeding back at the top of my pace to
welcome Philippa at the 'pike.

As I knew not by what train Sir Runan would reach Roding, nor when
Philippa might be looked for, I thus obtained exercise enough to make up
for months of inaction.

Finally the last train was due.

It was now pitch-dark and snowing heavily, the very time which Philippa
generally chose for a quiet evening walk.

I rushed half-way to Roding, changed my mind, headed back, and arrived
at the 'pike.

'Has a lady called for me?' I asked the Sphynx.

'Now, is it likely, sir?' answered my fellow, with rough humour.

'Well, I must go and meet her,' I cried, and, hastily snatching a
bull's-eye lantern and policeman's rattle from the Sphynx, I plunged
into the darkness.

First I hurried to Mrs. Thompson's, where I learned that Philippa had
just gone out for a stroll after a somewhat prolonged luncheon. This was
like Philippa. I recognised that shrinking modesty which always made her
prefer to veil her charms by walking about after nightfall.

Turning from Mrs. Thompson's, I felt the snow more sharply on m