The rain ceased, and her dripping clothes dried of themselves, so as not to encumber her movements. By some happy chance her feet were well shod, and now, gathering her wits as she went, she put on the shawl--not the bonnet, her head burned so, and felt so wild Just then, far into the darkness, she heard wheels rolling and rolling. It was Mrs. Dugdale driving along rapidly towards Thornhurst--but without one slash of the whip or one word of conversation with Dunce. When she stopped to open a gate the glare of the chaise-lamps showed the little black figure by the roadside. Harrie screamed--she thought it was a ghost. “Any news? any news?” “Gracious! is it you, child? No news--none! Get up, quick, and come home.” But Agatha fled on and on, noticing nothing, except once, when with a start she saw the great black outline of Corfe Castle looming against the night-sky. [Illustration: Along the road page 394] When she reached Kingcombe, it was still dark. She could not even have found her way, save for the faint sky brightness lent by the overcast moon; and the distance she had traversed was all but miraculous. It seemed as if she had not walked by natural feet, but some unseen influence had drawn and lifted her the whole way. When she stood in Kingcombe streets she hardly believed her senses--save that nothing was hard of belief just then, except the one horror--incredible, unutterable. Mr. Dugdale was walking up and down Kingcombe railway station, waiting for the early train. One or two sleepy porters were eyeing him with a sort of pitying curiosity, for ill news spreads fast in a country neighbourhood. There was no one else about. Nobody perceived a little figure creeping up the road and coming on the platform. Even Marmaduke did not lift his eyes or relax his melancholy walk until something touched him on the arm. He stood astonished. “It is I, you see. You are not gone yet.” “How did you come--you poor child?” “From Thornhurst--I walked. But how soon shall you start?” “Walked from Thornhurst!--at this time of night!” said one of the railway-men, who knew the family--as indeed did every one in the neighbourhood. “Lord help us--it's that poor Mrs. Harper!” Mr. Dugdale tried to remove Agatha from the platform, but she resisted. “I am come to go with you to Southampton.” “What need of that? Go back to my house, poor child. If anything is to be done I can do it. If nothing--why”-- “I _will_ go.” The determination was so calm, the grasp of the little hand so strong, that her brother-in-law urged no more. He went in his quiet way to take her ticket, the railway folk moving respectfully aside, and whispering among themselves something about “poor Mrs. Harper, that was going to Southampton to see after her husband.”