The telegram lay upon her lap, and she read it over and over again with increasing alarm as she noticed its careful vagueness, which seemed to her the worst sign of all. She was heartily relieved when she found that she was nearing Muirside: the journey had never seemed so long to her before. It was, indeed, longer than usual, for the railway line was in some places partly blocked with snow, and eight o'clock was past before Kitty reached Muirside. She looked anxiously out of the window, and saw Hugo Luttrell on the platform before the train had stopped. He sprang up to the step, and looked at her for a moment without speaking. Kitty had time to think that the expression of his face was odd before he replied to her eager questions about her father.

"Yes, he is a little better; he wants to see you," said Hugo at last.

"But how has he hurt himself? Is he seriously ill? Oh, Hugo, do tell me everything. Anything is better than suspense."

"There is no need for such great anxiety; he is a great deal better, quite out of danger," Hugo answered, with a rather strange smile. "I will tell you more as we go up to the house. Don't be afraid."

And then the guard came up to assure himself of the young lady's safety, and to receive his tip. Hugo made it a large one. Kitty's luggage was already in the hands of a man whom she thought she recognised: she had seen him once or twice with Hugo, and once when she paid a state-call at Netherglen. Just as she was leaving the station, a thought occurred to her, and she turned back.

"I said I would telegraph to Mrs. Baxter as soon as I reached Muirside.

Is it too late?"

"The office is shut, I think."

"I am so sorry! She will be anxious."

"Not if you telegraph first thing in the morning," said Hugo, soothingly. "Or--stay: I'll tell you what you can do. Come with me here, into the waiting-room--now you can write your message on a leaf of my pocket-book, and we will leave it with the station-master, to be sent off as soon as possible."

"What shall I say?" said Kitty, sitting down at the painted deal table, which was sparsely adorned with a water-bottle and a tract, and chafing her little cold hands. "Do write it for me, Hugo, please. My fingers are quite numb."

"Poor little fingers! You will be warmer soon," said Hugo, with more of his usual manner. "I will write in your name then. 'Arrived safely and found my father much better, but will write in a day or two and give particulars.' That does not tie you down, you see. You may be too busy to write to-morrow."

"Thank you. It will do very nicely."

She was left for a few minutes, whilst he went to the station-master with the message, and she took the opportunity of looking at herself in the glass above the mantelpiece, partly in order to see whether her bonnet was straight, partly in order to escape the stare of the waiting-room woman, who seemed to take a great deal of interest in her movements. Kitty was rather vexed when Hugo returned, to hear him say, in a very distinct tone:--

"Come, dearest. We shall be late if we don't set off at once."

"Hugo!" she ejaculated, as she met him at the door.

"What is it, dear? What is wrong?"

It seemed to her that he made his words still more purposely distinct.

The woman in the waiting-room came to the door, and gazed after them as they moved away towards the carriage which stood in waiting. They made a handsome pair, and Hugo looked particularly lover-like as he gave the girl his arm and bent his head to listen to what she had to say. But Kitty's words were not loving; they were only indignant and distressed.

"You should not speak to me in that way," she said.

But Hugo laughed and pressed her arm as he helped her into the carriage.

The man Stevens was already on the box. Hugo entered with her, closed the door and drew up the window. The carriage drove away into the darkness of an unlighted road, and disappeared from the sight of a knot of gazers collected round the station door.

"It's like a wedding," said the woman of the waiting-room, as she turned back to the deal table with the water bottle and the tract. "Just like a wedding."

Mrs. Baxter received her telegram next morning, and was comforted by it.

She noticed that the message was dated from Muirside Station, and that she must, therefore, wait until Kitty sent the promised letter before she wrote to Kitty, as she did not know where Mr. Heron might be staying. But as the days passed on and nothing more was heard, she addressed a letter of inquiry to Kitty at Strathleckie. To her amaze it was sent back to Merchiston Terrace, as if the Herons thought that Kitty was still with her, and a batch of letters with the Dunmuir postmark began to accumulate on the Baxters' table. Finally there came a postcard from Elizabeth, which Mrs. Baxter took the liberty of reading.

"Dear Kitty," it ran, "why do you not write to us? When are you coming back? We shall expect you on Saturday, if we hear nothing to the contrary from you. Uncle Alfred will meet you at Dunmuir."

"There is something wrong here," gasped poor Mrs. Baxter.

"What has become of that child if she is not with her friends? What does it mean?"

CHAPTER XLIII.

TRAPPED.

No sooner had the carriage door closed, than Kitty began to question her companion about the accident to her father. Hugo replied with evident reluctance--a reluctance which only increased her alarm. She began, to shed tears at last, and implored him to tell her the whole story, repeating that "anything would be better than suspense."

"I cannot say more than I have done," said Hugo, in a muffled voice.

"You will know soon--and, besides, as I have told you, there is nothing for you to be alarmed at; indeed there is not. Do you think I would deceive you in that?"

"I hope not," faltered Kitty. "You are very kind."

"Don't call it kindness. You know that I would do anything for you."

Then, noticing that the vehemence of his tone made her shrink away from him, he added more calmly, "you will soon understand why I am acting in this way. Wait for a little while and you will see."

She was silent for a few minutes, and then said in a subdued tone:--

"You frighten me, Hugo, by telling me that I shall know--soon; that I shall see--soon. What are you hiding from me? You make me fancy terrible things. My father is not--not-dying--dead? Hugo, tell me the truth."

"I solemnly assure you, Kitty, that your father is not even in danger."

"Then someone else is ill?"

"No, indeed. Be patient for a little time, and you shall see them all."

Kitty clasped her hands together with a sigh, and resigned herself to her position. She leaned back in the comfortably-cushioned seat for a time, and then roused herself to look out of the window. The night was a dark one: she could see little but vague forms of tall trees on either hand, but she felt by the motion of the carriage that they were going uphill.

"We have not much further to go, have we?" she asked.

"Some distance, I am sorry to say. Your father was removed to a farmhouse four miles from the station--the house nearest the scene of the accident."

"Four miles!" faltered Kitty. "I thought that it was close to the station."

"Is it disagreeable to you to drive so far with me?" said Hugo. "I will get out and sit on the box if you do not want me."

"Oh, no, I should not like you to do that," said Kitty. But in her heart, she wished that she had brought Mrs. Baxter's Janet.

Her next question showed some uneasiness, though of what kind Hugo could not exactly discover.

"Whose brougham is this?"

"Mrs. Luttrell's. I borrowed it for the occasion."

"You are very good. I could easily have come in a fly."