"MY DEAR BOY,--I am a cad, and I hate myself for what I have done to you. It is quite the meanest thing I have done in my life. Please believe that I did not authorize Digby to come and tell you for me, last night; he wanted to spare me the unpleasantness, I suppose, of confessing to you that I was a brute. But I am a brute, all the same; I should only be a worse one if I were to marry you now. I haven't the least right to expect you to grant me a favor, but I shall be glad if you will take this as final. "JOAN RELTON." The station for Murville village was two miles away from the Manor House, or from any human habitation of importance; and as the train slowly steamed away from it to-night, the three passengers whom it had brought from town, unknown to each other, were the only three whom it had deposited on the platform. They found themselves standing together near the exit, and there was an awkward moment of recognition while they fumbled with cold fingers for their tickets. Digby had apparently lost his altogether; Lady Joan had hers ready, and passed out swiftly; and Jack promptly gave up the wrong half of his and passed out after her, in spite of the station-master's expostulations. "Stupid of George to be late," observed Jack in the road outside. He was clearing his throat a good deal, and looking up the road with a great show of concern. "It was odd that we should all catch the same train," she said, stamping her feet, and coughing with unnecessary violence; "I suppose you have not been down before?" "No; they only knew of my arrival in time to cable to me that my father was dying," he said, with a queer mixture of humor and bitterness; "life is very rum sometimes, isn't it?" "Always," she said fervently, and shivered among her furs. They both looked up the road then, and prayed for the advent of George and the cart. Digby's irritated tones could be heard from within, concerning his missing ticket. "I say, won't you let fly for the fire in the booking-office till George comes? I reckon you're cold some," began Jack again, awkwardly. "Oh, no, please don't trouble about me," she replied politely, as though she had just been introduced to him for the first time. Digby came out and joined them. "He's always late," he began, in a high-pitched tone, also looking up the road with a great show of interest. "He is a countryman, you see," said Lady Joan, with gravity. "And the mother has been at him for six years," added Jack. They discussed the handy man, without a suspicion of a smile, for some minutes longer, and they continued to look up the road, and back at the clock in the station, and anywhere except at each other, until the welcome sound of wheels at last drew near, when they all flung themselves upon the handy man, without mercy, and robbed him of his few wits at once. "How is your master, George?" "Yes, how is Sir Marcus, George?" added Joan, anxiously.