ut all as yet was silent.
He pulled out his watch again, and, finding that he had still twenty
minutes to spare, set down his load at the foot of the signpost, and
began to walk to and fro.

So gloomy were his reflections that, to soothe his nerves, he pulled
out a cigar, lit it, and then, for lack of anything better to do,
rekindled his lantern, and resumed his walk.

The cigar was barely half smoked when he heard a noise in the
distance.

Yes, there was no doubt. It was the sound of horses. Sam caught up
the portmanteau, and stared down the highway. For a full minute he
listened to the advancing clatter, and presently, around an angle of
the road, a chaise and pair broke into view, and came up at a gallop.

Sam advanced a step or two; a white handkerchief was thrust out at
the window, and the driver pulled up suddenly. Then the face of Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys looked anxiously out.

"Ah! you are there," she exclaimed with a little cry of relief.
"I have been so afraid. Have you got it?"

In the moonlight, and that pretty air of timidity on her face, she
was more ravishing than ever. Her voice called as a siren's; her
eyes drew Sam irresistibly. In a second all his fears, doubts,
scruples, were flung to the winds. He held up the portmanteau, and
advanced to the carriage door.

"Here it is. Geraldine--"

"Oh! thanks, thanks. How can I show my thanks?"

The perfume of her hair floated out upon the night with the music of
her tone until they both fairly intoxicated him.

He opened the door of the chaise.

"Where shall I stow it?" he asked.

"Here, opposite me; be very careful of it."

In the darkness he saw a huge bundle of rugs piled by Geraldine's
side.

"Where am I to sit?" he asked, as he bestowed the portmanteau
carefully.

He looked up into her face. The loveliest smile rested on him, for
one instant, from those incomparable eyes. She did not answer, but
held out her hand with the grace of a maiden confessing her first
passion. He seized the ungloved fingers, and kissed them.

"Geraldine!"

At this moment a low chuckle issued from the bundle of rugs.
Sam dropped the hand, and started back as if stung. A hateful
thought flashed upon him.

"Moggridge? But no--"

He seized his lantern, and turned the slide. A stream of light shot
into the corner of the chaise, and revealed--the bland face of Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys!

There was an instant of blank dismay. Then, with a peal of laught