Regina had ended in giving
way. But she had not forgotten the interests of Amelius. She was willing
to see him privately on the next day, provided he left London by the
train which reached Harrow soon after eleven in the forenoon. If it
happened to rain, then he must put off his journey until the first fine
day, arriving in any case at the same hour. The place at which he was to
wait was described to him; and with these instructions the letter ended.

The rapidity with which Mr. Farnaby had carried out his resolution to
separate the lovers placed the weakness of Regina's character before
Amelius in a new and startling light. Why had she not stood on her
privileges, as a woman who had arrived at years of discretion, and
refused to leave London until she had first heard what her lover had to
say? Amelius had left his American friend, feeling sure that Regina's
decision would be in his favour, when she was called upon to choose
between the man who was ready to marry her, and the man who was nothing
but her uncle by courtesy. For the first time, he now felt that his
own confident anticipations might, by bare possibility, deceive him.
He returned to his lodgings, in such a state of depression, that
compassionate Rufus insisted on taking him out to dinner, and hurried
him off afterwards to the play. Thoroughly prostrated, Amelius submitted
to the genial influence of his friend. He had not even energy enough
to feel surprised when Rufus stopped, on their way to the tavern, at a
dingy building adorned with a Grecian portico, and left a letter and a
card in charge of a servant at the side-door.

The next day, by a happy interposition of Fortune, proved to be a day
without rain. Amelius followed his instructions to the letter. A little
watery sunshine showed itself as he left the station at Harrow. His mind
was still in such a state of doubt and disturbance that it drew from
superstition a faint encouragement to hope. He hailed the feeble
November sunlight as a good omen.

Mr. and Mrs. Ormond's place of residence stood alone, surrounded by its
own grounds. A wooden fence separated the property, on one side, from a
muddy little by-road, leading to a neighbouring farm. At a wicket-gate
in this fence, giving admission to a shrubbery situated at some distance
from the house, Amelius now waited for the appearance of the maid.

After a delay of a few minutes only, the faithful Phoebe approached the
gate with a key in her hand. "Wher