At that moment Mrs. Drayton came hastily down-stairs, in a fever of agitation. "You've got to get him up to his room," she said, between gusts of breath. "That's a job for two men, ain't it, missis?" said the driver. Mercy had loosened Paul's collar, and with a nervous hand she was bathing his burning forehead. "Oh, tell Mr. Christian," she said; "say he has fainted." Mrs. Drayton hobbled back. In another instant there was a man's step descending the stairs. Hugh Ritson entered the bar. He looked down at the unconscious man and felt his pulse. "When did this happen?" he asked, turning to Mercy. "He said he was feeling ill when I met him; then he was worse in the train, and when we reached Hendon he was too dizzy to stand," said Mercy. "His young woman, ain't it?" said the flyman, aside, to Hugh. Hugh nodded his head slightly. Then, turning toward Mrs. Drayton, with a significant glance, "Your poor son is going to be ill," he said. The landlady glanced back with a puzzled expression, and began in a blundering whimper, "The poor gentleman--" "The old lady's son?" said the flyman, tipping his finger in the direction of the landlady. "Paul Drayton," said Hugh. Mercy saw and heard all. The tears suddenly dried in her eyes, which opened wide in amazement. She said nothing. Hugh caught the altered look in her face. "Mrs. Drayton," he said, "didn't you say you had something urgent for Mercy to do? Let her set about it at once. Now, driver, lend a hand--upstairs; it's only a step." They lifted Paul Ritson between them, and were carrying him out of the bar. "Where's the boy?" asked Hugh. "Don't let him get in the way. Boys are more hindrance than help," he added, in an explanatory tone. They had reached the foot of the stair. "Now, my man, easy--heavy, eh? rather." They went up. Mercy stood in the middle of the floor with a tearless and whitening face. Half a minute later Hugh Ritson and the flyman had returned to the bar. The phantom of a smile lurked about the flyman's mouth. Hugh Ritson's face was ashen, and his lips quivered. The boxes and portmanteaus which Paul and Greta had left in the bar three nights ago still lay in one corner. Hugh pointed them out to the driver. "Put them on top of the cab," he said. The flyman proceeded to do so. When the man was outside the door, Hugh Ritson turned to Mrs. Drayton. The landlady was fussing about, twitching her apron between nervous fingers. "Mrs. Drayton," said Hugh, "you will go in this fly to the Convent of St. Margaret, Westminster. There you will ask for Mrs. Ritson, the lady who was here on Friday night. You will tell her that you have her luggage with you, and that she is to go with you to St. Pancras Station to meet her husband, and return to Cumberland by the midnight train. You understand?" "I can't say as I do, sir, asking pardon, sir. If so be as the lady axes why her husband didn't come for her hisself--what then?" "Then say what is true--nothing more, Mrs. Drayton."