Maurice bade his father good-bye that night, and early next morning he started on his journey to Chester. What a journey it was! His account to Lady Dighton had been exaggerated certainly, but was not without foundation. Again and again he found himself left behind, chafing and restless, by some train which had carried him for, perhaps, an hour, and obliged to amuse himself as best he could until a fresh one came, in which he would travel another equally short stage. It was a windy, rainy day, with gleams of sunshine, but more of cloud and shower, and grew more and more stormy as it drew towards night. Before he reached Chester the wind had risen to a storm, and sheets of rain were being dashed fiercely against the carriage windows. At last they did roll into the station with as much noise and importance as if delay had been a thing undreamt of, on _that_ line at any rate; and Maurice hurried off to make his inquiries, and find a carriage to take him to Mr. Wynter's.

So far, certainly, he prospered. He found that his destination was between four and five miles from the city, but it was perfectly well known, and a carriage was soon ready to take him on.

The road seemed very long, as an unknown road travelled in darkness and in haste generally does. The wind howled, and rattled the carriage windows, the rain still dashed against the glass with every gust, and at times the horses seemed scarcely able to keep on through the storm. At last, however, they came to a stop, and Maurice, looking out, found himself close to a lodge, from the window of which a bright gleam of light shone out across the rainy darkness. In a minute a second light came from the opening door, the great gates rolled back, and the carriage passed on into the grounds. There were large trees on both sides of the drive, just faintly visible as they swayed backwards and forwards, and then came an open space and the house itself. There was a cheerful brightness there, showing a wide old-fashioned porch, and, within, a large hall where a lamp was burning. Maurice hurried in to the porch, and had waited but a minute when a servant in a plain, sober-coloured livery came leisurely across the hall and opened the glass door, through which the visitor had been trying to get his first idea of the place and its inhabitants.

"Was Mr. Wynter in?"

"No."

"Was he expected?"

"Not to-night, certainly--perhaps not to-morrow."

"Mrs. Wynter?" That was a guess. Maurice had never troubled himself till then to think whether there _was_ a Mrs. Wynter.

"She was at home, but engaged."

Maurice hesitated a moment. "I must see her," he thought to himself, and took heart again.

"I have made a long journey," he said, "to see Mr. Wynter; will you give my card to your mistress, and beg of her to see me for a moment?"

The man took the card and led the visitor into a small room at one side of the hall, where books and work were lying about as if it had been occupied earlier in the day, but which was empty now. Then he shut the door and carried the card into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Wynter had friends staying with her. There was a widow and her son and daughter, and one or two young people besides, as well as all the younger members of the Wynter family. The two elder ladies were having a little comfortable chat over their work, and the others were gathered round the piano, when Maurice's arrival was heard.

"Who can it be?" Mrs. Wynter said doubtfully. "It is not possible Mr.

Wynter can be back to-night."

The eldest daughter came to the back of her mother's chair.

"Listen, mamma," she said; "or shall I look if it is papa?"

"No indeed, my dear. It can't be. Walter!" for one of the boys was cautiously unlatching the door, "come away, I beg."

Meanwhile all listened, so very extraordinary did it seem that anybody should come unannounced, so late, and on such a night.

Presently the door opened, and everybody's eyes, as well as ears, were in requisition, though there was only a card to exercise them on.

"A gentleman, ma'am, who says he has come a long way to see master, and would you speak to him for a moment?"

Mrs. Wynter took up the card, and her daughter read it over her shoulder.

"Leigh Beresford?" she said. "I do not know the name at all. You said Mr. Wynter was from home?"

"Yes, ma'am. The gentleman seemed very much put out, and then said could he see you?"

"I suppose he must;" and Mrs. Wynter began, rather reluctantly, to put aside her embroidery, and draw up her lace shawl around her shoulders.

"But what a pretty name! Mamma, who can he be?"

"And, mamma, if he is nice bring him in and let us all see him."

"No, don't; we don't want any strangers. What _do_ people come after dinner for?"

Mrs. Wynter paid no attention to her daughters, but having made up her mind to it, walked composedly out of the room, and into the one where Maurice waited. She came in, a fair motherly woman, in satin and lace, with a certain soft _comfortableness_ about her aspect which seemed an odd contrast to his impatience. He took pains to speak without hurry or excitement, but did not, perhaps, altogether succeed.

"I must beg you to pardon me this intrusion," he said. "I hoped to have found Mr. Wynter at home, and I wished to ask him a question which I have no doubt you can answer equally well if you will be so good."

"If it relates to business," Mrs. Wynter began, but Maurice interrupted,

"It is only about an address. I have just arrived in England from Canada; I am an old friend and neighbour of Mrs. Costello, and have something of importance to communicate to her, will you tell me where she is?"

Poor Maurice! he had been getting his little speech ready beforehand, and had made up his mind to speak quite coolly, but somehow the last few words seemed very much in earnest, and struck Mrs. Wynter as being so.

She looked more closely at her guest.

"Mrs. Costello is in France. Did I understand that you had known her in Canada?"

"I have known her all my life. I spent the last summer and autumn in England, and did not return to Canada until after she had left, but she knew that I should have occasion to see her, or write to her as soon as I could reach home again, and I am anxious to do so now."

"You are aware that Mrs. Costello wishes to live very quietly? Her health is much broken."

"I know all. Mrs. Costello has herself told me. Pray trust me--you may, indeed."

"You will excuse my hesitation if you do know all; but, certainly, I have no authority to refuse their address."

She got up and opened a desk which stood on a table in the room. She had considered the matter while they were talking, and come to the conclusion that the address ought to be given, while at the same time she wished to know more of the person to whom she gave it.

"I wish Mr. Wynter had been at home," she said after a minute's pause, during which she was turning over the papers in the desk, and Maurice was watching her eagerly. "He would have been able to tell you something of your friends, for he only returned home a week or two ago from meeting them."

"Are they in Paris?"

"Yes. Are you returning to Canada?"

"No. Perhaps, Mrs. Wynter, you would like to have my address? My coming to you as I have done, without credentials of any sort, must certainly seem strange."

"Thank you; you will understand that I feel in some little difficulty."

"I understand perfectly." He wrote his name and address in full and gave it to her. "Mrs. Costello was a dear friend of my mother's," he said; "she has always treated me almost as a son, and I cannot help hoping that what I have to say to her may be welcome news."

"Do you expect to see her, then, or only to write?"

"I am on my way to Paris. I hope to see them."

"Here is the address. You have had a long journey, the servant told me."

"From Hunsdon. And the journey out of Norfolk into Cheshire is a tiresome one. Thank you very much. Can I take any message to Mrs.

Costello?"

"None, thank you, except our kindest remembrances. But you will let me offer you something--at least a glass of wine?"