She felt afraid of him. Already she was hesitating whether she should go back without seeing him, asking herself whether she could contrive to miss him at the station, when the slackening of the train’s speed and the exclamation of one of the gentlemen, “Here we are!” told her that the end of her journey was reached. “Hallo, there’s Harry himself!” said the elder gentleman, looking out of the window. “Why, how many more of us does he expect? He has brought the dog-cart as well as the phaeton. Nice turn-out, that!” he added admiringly. “Here he is! Well, how are you, Harry?” he called out, as he turned the handle of the door and stepped down on to the platform. Annie sprung to her feet at the other end of the carriage and looked out eagerly. There stood Harry, in a light overcoat, his face rather flushed and his blue eyes sparkling, looking, she thought, handsomer than she had ever seen him. He shook hands with the two gentlemen, and then he caught sight of her. She was watching him intently; but he was better schooled than in the old days, and no one could have detected disappointment in the flash which passed over his face on seeing her. She came to the carriage door, and, as he helped her out, he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he had expected her: “So you all came down in the same carriage, Lord Lytham?”--turning to the elder gentleman. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife.” She was then introduced to the younger man, Captain King, who begged to be allowed to drive her in the dog-cart, and the other two drove in the mail-phaeton, in which Harry himself had come to the station. Kirby Park was only three quarters of a mile off. The house was a large, heavy-looking building, which would have been ugly but for the trees about it. The park in which it stood was an extremely beautiful one, and, as the dog-cart followed the other carriage up the winding road through it, Annie’s thoughts were for a few moments diverted by the loveliness of the scene around her from the doubts and fears which were agitating her. When they reached the house her husband was standing on the steps to help her to alight. As they all went in, he said: “You would like to rest while we go down to the stable, Annie. Mrs. Clewer will take care of you until we come back.” A very staid, elderly woman, the model of a trustworthy housekeeper, stepped forward and led Annie up-stairs to take off her mantle. “Whose room is this?” asked Annie, as she was shown into a large front room with a beautiful view of the park and the landscape beyond. “Mr. Braithwaite’s, ma’am.”