"No, and haven't been there. I've turned that confounded town inside out, and catechised every one about the station, from the divisional superintendent to the charwoman. They did not come last night, nor arrive this morning. Since leaving Southampton, if they did leave it, they have entirely disappeared."

"Why do you say, 'if they did leave' Southampton?"

"Because no one saw them go. I have learned by endless telegraphing that they alighted at that point, told a porter they had been carried past their destination, and wished to return at once to Basingstoke. He indicated their train, they disappeared in the crowd--and that's all."

"Haven't they telegraphed again to Basingstoke?"

"Not since last night."

"Or to Salisbury?"

"No. I inquired on the chance, but no message had come."

"It is horrible!" she exclaimed. "I'm the most miserable woman on earth!"

"Don't cry," he begged despairingly.

"No," she said, "I won't. Do you think it would be any good to telegraph to Aunt Eliza and Lady Scarsdale?"

"I have already done so. Your Aunt Eliza has left for Paris. She wouldn't have done that if she had heard about this; and it gave Lady Scarsdale a fit--the telegram I mean--but she didn't know anything."

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. I have telegraphed to my Vice-Consul at Christchurch, asking for news of Scarsdale, and telling him to forward anything that had come for me. They might have _written_ there, you know, to save talk in the office; but I haven't as yet had a reply."

"I must consult Lady Melton; the situation is too dreadful for words.

Suppose they have had an accident; suppose----" she faltered.

"Nonsense!" he rejoined, "bad news always travels quickly; don't make yourself uneasy on that score. They've got side-tracked in some out-of-the-way place, just as we have. I'll go to Southampton to-morrow and work up the trail. Now you run off and consult the catawampus."

When her ladyship had heard the whole story, she summed up as follows:

"As your friend has seen fit to return, you may tell him his chamber will be again made ready for to-night, and you will both dine in my sitting-room as before. To-morrow I shall send you home to Lady Scarsdale."

"But----"

"There is nothing more to be said on the subject. I have made up my mind." And having p.r.o.nounced sentence, she left her distracted great-niece to her own reflections.

It was a very doleful couple who sat down to dinner that evening in Lady Melton's private room.

"It is ridiculous!" said Mrs. Scarsdale. "We are being treated like naughty children. I feel as if I were about to be whipped and put to bed. Sent home with the butler, indeed! I'd just like to see her ladyship try to do it!"

"How are you going to prevent her?" asked the Consul.

"I'm not a child, and I won't be treated as one! If I am to be sent home in disgrace, you will have to come with me."

"Well, I like that! You seem to forget I've lost my wife. My first duty is to find her."

"Your first duty is to me. If you go to Southampton, I go with you."

"I'm afraid there'll be an awful row with her ladyship."

"Let there be, then; I don't care!"

"I really think," he expostulated, "that you had better stay here one day more. I'll get you a reprieve from the custody of the butler, and have a try at Southampton myself. There is a cross-line from here, and it won't take any time to run over. I've tracked horse-thieves in Kentucky when I was sheriff, and I guess I can find a bridegroom where it's all open country as it is round here."

At this moment a servant knocked and entered, saying:

"Please, madam, her ladyship's orders is that you are to be ready at seven to-morrow morning, to start with Mr. Bright, the butler, for 'The Towers.'"

"I----!" began Mrs. Scarsdale, rising in wrath and indignation; but before she could further complicate matters by a direct refusal, the footman had turned to Allingford, and, handing him a telegram, had left the room. Forgetful of all else, she rushed to the Consul's side as with nervous fingers he tore it open. What joyful news might it not contain! One look at his face, however, blasted all her hopes. Horror, consternation, and surprise were depicted thereon as he read the despatch. Something dreadful must have happened.

"Tell me the worst!" she cried. "Is it Harold?"

"It is the last straw," he replied.

"Is he dead?"

"I wish he was."

"You wish my husband dead?"

"Oh, confound your husband!"

"Mr. Allingford----!"

"No, no, I don't mean that. I'm not responsible for what I'm saying," he replied, and groaned aloud. But his companion was not to be put off.

"Is that telegram from my husband?"

"No."

"From my mother-in-law?"

"No."

"From Aunt Eliza?"

"No."

"From the station-master at Basingstoke?"

"Guess again."

"From your Vice-Consul?"

"Yes."