The first question I asked of the landlord was, whether two gentlemen (friends of mine, of course, whom I expected to meet) had driven into Crickgelly, a little while before me. The reply was in the negative; and the sense of relief it produced seemed to rest me at once, body and mind, after my long and anxious journey. Either I had beaten the spies on the road, or they were not bound to Crickgelly. Any way, I had first possession of the field of action. I paid the man who had driven me, and asked my way to Zion Place. My directions were simple--I had only to go through the village, and I should find Zion Place at the other end of it. The village had a very strong smell, and a curious habit of building boats in the street between intervals of detached cottages; a helpless, muddy, fishy little place. I walked through it rapidly; turned inland a few hundred yards; ascended some rising ground; and discerned, in the dim twilight, four small lonesome villas standing in pairs, with a shed and a saw-pit on one side, and a few shells of unfinished houses on the other. Some madly speculative builder was evidently trying to turn Crickgelly into a watering-place. I made out Number Two, and discovered the bell-handle with difficulty, it was growing so dark. A servant-maid--corporeally enormous; but, as I soon found, in a totally undeveloped state, mentally--opened the door. “Does Miss Giles live here?” I asked. “Don’t see no visitors,” answered the large maiden. “‘T’other one tried it and had to go away. You go, too.” “‘T’othor one?” I repeated. “Another visitor? And when did he call?” “Better than an hour ago.” “Was there nobody with him?” “No. Don’t see no visitors. He went. You go, too.” Just as she repeated that exasperating formula of words, a door opened at the end of the passage. My voice had evidently reached the ears of somebody in the back parlor. Who the person was I could not see, but I heard the rustle of a woman’s dress. My situation was growing desperate, my suspicions were aroused--I determined to risk everything--and I called softly in the direction of the open door, “Alicia!” A voice answered, “Good heavens! Frank?” It was _her_ voice. She had recognized mine. I pushed past the big servant; in two steps I was at the end of the passage; in one more I was in the back parlor. She was there, standing alone by the side of a table. Seeing my changed costume and altered face, she turned deadly pale, and stretched her hand behind her mechanically, as if to take hold of a chair. I caught her in my arms; but I was afraid to kiss her--she trembled so when I only touched her. “Frank!” she said, drawing her head back. “What is it? How did you find out? For mercy’s sake what does it mean?”