"Quite alone, sir," answered the station-master. "In the afternoon a boy brought a trunk and said it had to wait for a young lady who was coming to catch a train. And I just happened to look at the address, and it was 'Miss Churchill, London.'" "And that was all?" "That was all, sir--'Miss Churchill, London.' I wondered at the time there was nothing more, but there was not." "And the boy who brought the trunk; it was not one of my boys, was it?" "Oh, dear, no, sir! I know both your boys quite well. This was a common sort of lad in a fustian jacket, and I don't think I'd know him again." "And she came to the train? How did she look?" "She came into the station quite cheerful, sir, and she took a second-class fare to London, and I put her into the carriage myself. I asked her if she was going for a long visit, as you see I've known her ever since she was a child, and she smiled in her pretty way. 'Yes, Mr. Johnson,' said she, 'a long visit;' and those were her last words to me." Mr. Churchill groaned aloud. "I fear she has run away," he said, "and as well seek for a needle in a bundle of hay as find anyone in London if they went to hide. Thank you, Johnson. Don't say anything, but I fear it's a bad business." So Mr. Churchill left the station with a heavy heart, but on the way home he saw the gray walls and towers of Woodlea Hall standing amid the trees in the distance, and again the thought of John Temple recurred to his mind. "I'll make some excuse and go and see if he's there, at any rate," he decided, and accordingly he turned his horse's head down the avenue that led to the Hall, and a few minutes later drew up at the back entrance. "Can I see the squire?" he asked in some agitation. It was yet early morning, and the squire was still at breakfast. But Mr. Churchill was known to be a favorite tenant, and one of the servants took up a message that he was waiting until the squire could see him. A message came back, would Mr. Churchill go into the library, and Mr. Temple would join him immediately. This the squire did, and in his quiet, courteous manner held out his hand to Mr. Churchill, who took it nervously. "I am in sad trouble, sir," he began. "I am extremely sorry to hear this, Mr. Churchill," answered the squire, with real interest. "It's about my daughter, sir--" "What, that pretty girl?" interrupted the squire. "Yes, May--well, sir, the truth is that May and my new wife didn't get on over-well together, and we--my wife and I--have been away from home for a couple of days, and when we went to seek May this morning we found she was not in the house. Then I went to the station--I have just been there--and Johnson, the station-master, he says May left last evening by the quarter-to-six train for London, and that's every word we know about her." "And she left no letter? Told no one she was going?" "Yes, she left a letter for me, to say she was going, and that was all; not a word where she was going to."