"That will at least give us time," he said, "to consider what is best to be done. Have you a railway guide?"

"I think there is a South Western time-table in the pocket of dear Malcolm's coat," she said, indicating a garment on the seat beside her.

"Why don't you call him St. Hubart and be done with it?" queried Allingford, as he searched for and found the desired paper. "You've given him all his other names."

"I reserve that for important occasions," she replied; "it sounds so impressive."

Mabel Scarsdale, it will be noticed, was fast regaining her composure, now that a definite course of action had been determined upon. But she could not help feeling depressed, for it must be admitted that it is disheartening to lose your husband before you have been married a day.

What would he do, she wondered, when he found that the train had gone?

Had he discovered its departure soon enough to warn Mrs. Allingford to leave her carriage? and if not, where had she gone, and had he accompanied her? The event certainly afforded ample grounds for speculation; but her reverie was interrupted by the Consul, who had been deeply immersed in the time-table.

"There is no train back to Basingstoke before ten to-night," he said, "so we must spend the evening in Salisbury and telegraph them to await our return."

"Possibly my husband may have chased the train and caught the rear carriage. I have seen people do that," she ventured.

"The guard's van, you mean," he explained. "In that case he is travelling down with us and will put in an appearance directly we reach Salisbury, though I don't think it's likely. However, there's nothing to worry about, and I must beg you not to do so, unless you wish to make me more miserable than I already am for my share in this deplorable blunder."

"You don't think they would follow us to Salisbury?"

"No; that is"--and he plunged into the intricacies of the time-table once more--"they couldn't; besides, they would receive our telegram before they could leave Basingstoke."

"Could they have gone off on the other train?"

"Impossible," he replied. "By Jove, they neither of them know where they are bound for!"

"Quite true," she said, "they do not. We had tickets for Exeter; but as a joke I never let my husband see them."

"We were going to Bournemouth, and here are my tickets," he returned, holding them up, "but my wife doesn't know it."

"You think there is no question that they are waiting for us at Basingstoke?" she asked.

"Not a doubt of it; and so we have nothing to do but kill time till we can rejoin them, which won't be hard in your society," he replied.

"I'm sorry I can't be so polite," she returned, "but I want my husband, and if you talk to me much more I shall probably cry."

The Consul at this made a dive for an adjacent newspaper, in which he remained buried till the train slowed down for Salisbury.

"I suppose," he said apologetically, as they drew up at their destination, "that you won't object to my appropriating Scarsdale's coat and hat? I dare say he is sporting mine."

A tearful sniff was the only reply as he gathered up the various impedimenta with which the carriage was littered, and a.s.sisted his fair though doleful companion to alight. Returning a few moments later from the arduous duty of rescuing her luggage, which was, of course, labelled for Exeter, he found her still alone, there being no sign of Scarsdale in or out of the train, and no telegram for them from Basingstoke--a chance on which Allingford had counted considerably, though he had not thought it wise to mention it. Indeed, the fact that no inquiry had been made for them puzzled and worried him greatly, for it seemed almost certain that were their deserted partners still at Basingstoke, their first action would have been to telegraph to the fugitives. However, he put the best face he could on the matter, a.s.sured Mrs. Scarsdale that everything must be all right, and despatched his telegram back to their point of separation. Under the most favourable circ.u.mstances they could not receive an answer under half an hour, and with this information the Consul was forced to return to the disconsolate bride.

"There is no use in loafing around here," he said. "Suppose we go and see the cathedral? It will be something to do, and may distract our thoughts."

"I don't think mine could well be more distracted than they are now,"

replied she; "besides, we might miss the telegram."

"Oh, I'll fix that," he returned; "I'll have it sent up after us. Come, you had better go. You can't sit and look at that pea-green engine for thirty minutes; it is enough to give you a fit of the blues."

"Well, just as you please," she said, and they started up into the town, and made their way to the cathedral.

It is not to the point of this narrative to discourse on the beauties of that structure; the finest shaft of Purbec marble it contains would prove cold consolation to either a bride or a bridegroom deserted on the wedding day. But the cool quiet of the great building seemed unconsciously to soothe their troubled spirits, though when they each revisited the spot in after years they discovered that it was entirely new to them, and that they possessed not the faintest recollection of its appearance, within or without.

At last, after having consulted their watches for the hundredth time, they began to stroll down the great central aisle, towards the main entrance. Suddenly Mrs. Scarsdale clutched the Consul's arm, and pointed before her to where a messenger-boy, with a look of expectancy on his face and an envelope in his hand, stood framed in a Gothic doorway. Then they made a wild, scrambling rush down the church, the bride reaching the goal first, and s.n.a.t.c.hing the telegram from its astonished bearer.

"For Mr. Allingford," he began, but she had already torn open the envelope and was devouring its contents.

For a moment the words seemed to swim before her eyes, then, as their meaning became clear to her, she gave a frightened gasp, dropped the message on the floor, sat down hard on the tomb of a crusader, and burst into tears.

Allingford gazed at her silently for a moment, and meditatively scratched his head; then he paid and dismissed the amazed boy, and finally picked up the crumpled bit of paper. It was from the station-master at Basingstoke, and read as follows:

"_Parties mentioned left in second division for Southampton and South Coast Resorts. Destination not known._"

It was incomprehensible, but he had expected it. If Mr. Scarsdale had remained at Basingstoke he would certainly have telegraphed them from there at their first stop, Salisbury. Evidently he, too, had been carried away on the train; but where? It was some relief to know that his wife was not wholly alone, but he did not at all like the idea of her going off into s.p.a.ce with another man, and the fact that he had done the same thing himself was no consolation. Then his mind reverted to Mrs. Scarsdale, who still wept on the tomb of the crusader. What in thunder was he going to do with her? To get her back to her aunt in London at that time of night was out of the question; but where else could he take her?

This point, however, was settled at once, and in an unexpected manner, by the lady herself. Drying her eyes, she remarked suddenly: "I'm a little fool!"

"Not at all," he replied; "your emotion is quite natural under the circ.u.mstances."

"But crying won't get us out of this awful predicament."

"Unfortunately no, or we should have arrived at a solution long ago."

"That," remarked the lady, "is merely another way of making a statement which you just now disputed. I _am_ a little fool, and I mean to dry my eyes and attend strictly to business. Tell me exactly what this message implies."

"It means," said the Consul, "that it is impossible for you to rejoin your husband to-night."

Her lip quivered dangerously; but she controlled herself sufficiently to exclaim: "But what are we to do?"

"Well," he replied, "I should advise remaining here. There is a good hotel."

"But we can't. Don't you see I must not remain--with you?" She spoke the last words with an effort.

"Yes," he rejoined. "It is awkward; but you can't spend the night in the streets; you must have somewhere to sleep."

"Let us go back to Basingstoke, then."

"I can't see that that would help matters," he said gloomily; "we would have to spend the night there just the same. Besides, I think it is going to rain." They were standing outside the church by this time.

"No," he continued, "our best course, our only course, in fact, is to stay here to-night, return to Basingstoke to-morrow morning, and wait for them there. You may be sure they are having quite as bad a time as we are. If I only knew some one here----"

"Bravo!" she interrupted, clapping her hands, "I believe you have solved the problem. Look: do you see that carriage over there? What coat of arms has it? Quick! your eyes are better than mine."

In the gathering twilight he saw driving leisurely by, with coachman and footman on the box, a handsome barouche, on the panels of which a coat of arms was emblazoned.

"Well," he said, gazing hard at it, "there is a helmet with a plume, balanced on a stick of peppermint candy----"

"Yes, yes!" she cried, "the crest. Go on!"

"Down on the ground-storey," he continued, "there is a pink shield divided in quarters, with the same helmet in the north-east division, and a lot of silver ticket-punchers in the one below it."