"Yes, miss, of course. But where are you going from, there's no trains now, miss?"

"There is a train that stops at Swaile Junction somewhere between three and four, I am going to catch that."

"Swaile," said the maid; "but that's miles away, miss. How will you go?"

"Quite easily," said Caroline. "I am going to walk."

"But you'll never do it, miss. It's much too far."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Caroline, quickly. "I can walk ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, or even thirty miles, if needs be. Walking does not hurt me."

As she ran down again she glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to eleven. There was ample time, although she would have to keep to the roads, because she did not know any short cut. The idea that she should be frightened amused her in a way.

"If anybody hits me, I shall hit back," she said to herself, as she gripped her umbrella and started forth.

It was not a dark night, though there was no moon.

At first the mere physical satisfaction of moving, of walking swiftly, carried Caroline along pleasurably. The fresh, sweet cold in the air was like an embrace.

She skirted the village, and ventured across one field which she knew would cut off a considerable corner. This field was studded with sheep and lambs.

The foolish creatures got up with a jerk, and ran away, complaining and fearful, as she pa.s.sed swiftly beside them. In the faint, misty light the lambs looked prettier than ever.

Once on the high-road Caroline pushed on vigorously, but by degrees that unconscious sense of exhilaration which had possessed her when she had first started fell away, and she felt heart-weary and indescribably sad as she realized the purport of this solitary excursion.

How far she walked she never knew, but her feet were getting stiff and tired when at last she saw the lights of the junction in the distance.

Nevertheless, she could not rest when she was in the station. She spent the time waiting for the train to come in restlessly pacing the platform.

It was about half-past six when she reached London, and put herself into a cab. The horse seemed as tired as herself, and the journey from the station interminable, but at last she had alighted at the familiar little house.

Her heart was in her throat as she rang the bell.

"Perhaps I shall have to wait a little while," she said to herself.

"They never get up very early."

But, strangely enough, the door was opened to her almost immediately by the cook, whose face lit up when she saw Caroline.

"Oh, miss, I am glad to see you!" she said. "I've had such a start.

He's upstairs in the drawing-room. If you'll believe me, he's been here since a quarter to six. Wouldn't be said no! But how tired you look, miss! Come in and sit down."

Caroline could not get her voice for a moment. Vaguely she remarked a strapped portmanteau standing on one of the chairs. Then she asked--

"Mrs. Lancing, is she here?"

The servant shook her head.

"No, miss, she's not here. That's what I've been telling Sir Samuel. He won't believe me. He says she's coming."

"Not here?" said Caroline.

She stepped back, and rested against the hall wall. All her strength went from her for a moment, but she rallied herself quickly, and turned into the dining-room.

"Who did you say was upstairs?" she asked.

"Sir Samuel, miss. Come here at a quarter to six, as I told you. Said as the mistress had fixed him to come. There's only me and Annie sleeping here. He rang the bell like mad; hardly gave me time to put my clothes on. Of course, the missus isn't here; she ain't expected, leastways, not by us. Did you come to meet her?"

"Yes," said Caroline; but her tone was weary, and she closed her eyes.

"Well, I've no news of her, miss. Most like she's coming. She don't always give us notice. But there, I'll go and get you a cup of tea."

At that very moment they heard the stamp of a heavy foot, and the drawing-room door was opened with a jerk.

"Now he's coming to swear at me again!"

Caroline got up, stood a moment with her eyes shut, then opened them with a jerk, and walked out of the room straight up the stairs. She took off her hat as she went. Sir Samuel Broxbourne was standing on the top stair; he frowned as he saw her. He was dressed as for travelling, in a rough tweed suit.

It was the girl who spoke first.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "By what right do you come to the house at this time? Will you please be so good as to go at once?"

He stared at her, and, as she advanced, he moved mechanically on one side and let her pa.s.s, but he followed her into the drawing-room.

"I am here by appointment," he said; his tone was sullen, his manner rude. "Mrs. Lancing desires to see me."

"No person would give you an appointment for six o'clock in the morning," said Caroline.

"Ordinary people might not," he answered with a smile that was a sneer, "but this is not an ordinary house."

Caroline walked into the dismantled drawing-room.

"As Mrs. Lancing is not here," she said, "it is undesirable that you should remain."

"I shall go when I choose," was Broxbourne's answer.

Caroline shrugged her shoulders, and turned at once to leave the room, but he stood in the way.

"No," he said, "since you give orders you must know what is going on here. If Mrs. Lancing is not here, why are you here?"

"I recognize no right on your part to question me," said Caroline.

She was swayed about by the most extraordinary feelings, prominent amongst which was a sense of acute relief that almost amounted to joy.

Whatever Camilla had done, wherever she was, this man at least was not with her. It was impossible for Caroline to try and piece out what probable step the other woman had taken, but at least the degradation of close a.s.sociation with this man was not part of her movements.

Sir Samuel eyed her with suspicion, and yet her quietness, her tired pale face, and that wonderful dignity which sat upon her so naturally, impressed him.

"I don't want to question you," he said surlily, "I only want to see her."

"She is not here," said Caroline.