He bowed distantly to Sir Harold, and, having placed the harmonium in the carriage, he started away, dragging the instrument after him. Theresa looked back once, and the baronet found himself gazing at her, he knew not why. “Let me do what little good I can with my useless life,” he thought. “Even such a chance as this may never occur again.” He followed the musicians, and drew from his pocket a handful of coins, but the sharp eyes of John Hamilton had observed the movement. “You will excuse me, Sir Harold Annesley,” he said with dignity. “My child sings for money, and I employ my poor powers to assist her, when we are driven to do so by dire necessity, but we do not beg. Pray keep your money.” The girl blushed painfully, and the young baronet continued on his way, a bitter laugh upon his lips. Even that small pleasure was denied him. The nearest railway station was called Crayford, and when he asked for a ticket to London the booking clerk was startled by his hoarse tones and the strange, gray pallor of his face. He had a quarter of an hour to wait, and paced the platform with quick, restless strides. He dreaded lest some friend should follow him. He felt that any interference now would madden him. At last the bell rang, and he heard the distant scream of the coming train. There were few people on the platform, but at the last moment John Hamilton arrived with his harmonium and his beautiful daughter. The instrument had to be lifted into the luggage van, a task that the railway porter did not relish, and he was not slow in showing the contempt he felt for traveling musicians and such like. The same man subsequently attended upon Sir Harold, and was surprised to find himself gruffly ordered out of the way. The train started, and until he heard a hoarse cry of “Tenterden, Tenterden!” he had lost count of time and space. Then he awakened to a momentary interest in life, for he remembered that the sweet singer told him that she and her father lived at Tenterden. He looked from the window and saw that the station was a mere wooden shanty. It appeared to be quite deserted now, and the old musician was struggling to lift his harmonium out of the luggage van, while the guard swore roundly at him for wasting the company’s time. All at once there was a crash, and a cry of anger and dismay from John Hamilton, mingled with the laughter of the guard, as the train steamed onward again. In a moment Sir Harold had grasped the situation. The harmonium had been precipitated to the platform, and lay a wreck, while the old musician was alternately bewailing his misfortune and threatening the railway company. Burning with pity and indignation, the young baronet resolved to help the old man in his distress, and, opening the door of the carriage, sprang lightly to the ground.