It was
prettier than ever to her own eyes now. After half an hour she
remembered that she had left the book on the table in the parlor, and
crept down-stairs to recover it. When she was on the landing at the
bottom, she heard a hurried knock at the outer door.

Thereafter all her dreams died in an instant.

CHAPTER V.

When Hugh Ritson stepped out into the road, the night was dark. Fresh
from the yellow light of the inn, his eyes could barely descry the
footpath or see the dim black line of the hedge. The atmosphere was
damp. The moisture in the air gathered in great beads on his eyebrows
and beard, stiffening them with frost. It was bitterly cold. The mist
that rose from the river spread itself over the cold, open wastes of
marshy ground that lay to the right and to the left. The gloomy road was
thick with half-frozen mud.

Hugh Ritson buttoned his coat yet closer and started at a brisk pace.

"No time to lose," he thought, "if I've to be at the station when the
north train goes through. Would have dearly liked to keep an eye on my
gentleman. Should have done it, but for the girl. 'Summat on,' eh? What
is it, I wonder? It might be useful to know."

With a cutting wind at his back he walked faster as his eyes grew
familiar with the darkness. He was thinking that Bonnithorne's telegram
might be an error. Perhaps it had even been tampered with. It was barely
conceivable that Paul and Greta had ever so much as heard of the Hawk
and Heron. And what possible inducement could they have to sleep in
Hendon when they would be so near to London?

His mind went back to Mercy Fisher. At that moment she was dreaming
beautiful dreams of how happy she was very soon to make him. He was
thinking, with vexation, that the girl was a connecting link with the
people in Cumberland. Yes--and the only link, too. Could it be that
Mercy--No; the idea of Mercy's disloyalty to him was really too
ridiculous. If he could get to the station before the train from the
north was due to stop there, he would see for himself whether Paul and
Greta alighted. If they did not, as they must be in that train, he would
get into it also, and go on with them to London. Bonnithorne might have
blundered.

The journey was long, and the roads were heavy for walking. It seemed a
far greater distance than he had thought. At the angle of a gate and a
thick brier hedge he struck a match and read the time by his watch.
Eleven o'clock. Too late, if the wa