Above the line of brass lattice that held packages, hats, and umbrellas ran a panel of mirrors, and in the section over his head was reflected the face and figure directly opposite. For the next hour he held the magazine open, but his eyes never left the mirror. Twice she looked at her watch without raising her head, and from the tense, strained fixedness of her features he knew she was nerving herself for the ordeal at Woodbury; the final effort in her father's behalf, which he felt assured would prove futile. Conflicting emotions shook him, but nothing availed to abate the rage of his disappointment. The train slowed at the entrance to a large town, and as the station platform filled with curious faces peering into the car windows, Eglah went back to her own seat. A moment later the door was thrown open, and a boy wearing the uniform of the telegraph company shouted: "Is Mr. Noel Herriott aboard? Message for Mr. Noel Herriott!" "I am Mr. Herriott." He went forward, signed his name in the receipt-book, and opened the envelope. He stood with his back to Eglah, and remained so motionless that she was seized by an apprehension some evil had overtaken her father. Just as she rose he turned and approached her. "Has anything happened to father? "This is not from the South. It does not refer to him. We may have to stop here. Keep your seat till I ascertain positively." Very soon he returned, followed by a porter, who promptly collected satchels and magazines. "I find I must wait here until two o'clock in the morning." "Why delay reaching Woodbury? I beg of you let us hasten on." "There are reasons necessitating it that will be explained later." She had drawn back, but he took her arm. "The train will move in a moment, and unless you wish to go on alone, we must be quick." He assisted her into an omnibus, where several passengers waited, and they were driven to a hotel. Mr. Herriott ordered two rooms, and at the door of one said: "I must see that the trunks are brought at once. I need mine." Throwing aside her hat, Eglah began to pace the floor. His countenance had undergone a marked change--subtle, inexplicable--and an indefinable dread caught her heart as in a vise. It seemed to her that an hour passed before he tapped at the door, and she could scarcely articulate, "Come in." With a square package sealed in brown paper under one arm, Mr. Herriott entered, closed the door, and deposited the bundle on a small table. From his vest pocket he drew the folded telegram and gave it to her. "Woodbury, 3 P.M. "Duncan Keith died two days ago. Wired you at New York Club. Everything attended to here. Will meet you at Carville at 8 P.M. "HERMAN MARTIN." Her wide, terrified eyes gazed into his. "What does it mean for me--now?"