"That's a queer customer," said Kate to herself, as she stood in the lane by the lodge-gate, looking after his receding figure. "A very queer customer. What a grip he gave my hand when he said good-by! My fingers ache with it still. And there was no nonsense about him; I could see that in a minute. Where have I seen him before? I've some sort of recollection of him; but I can't fit it to any thing particular--he's not in the horse-line, and he's not a swell; so I don't see where I can have come across him. Glad he looked in this morning, for I was precious dull: I can't make out what this weight is that's hanging over me for the last few days, just as though something was going to happen. I think another glass of Madeira would do me good; but I promised Simnel I'd knock that off. I wonder what's come of Simnel for the last few days. That old Scadgers seemed to know something about this place, noticed the alterations in the five-acre meadow; and when I asked him, said he remembered the place when it was Myrtle Farm. I must ask Simnel about him, he--Lord, how depressed and stupid I feel again!" She turned back and fastened the gate after her. One of the gatekeeper's chubby children came running out to meet her, and she caught the little thing up in her arms, and carried it into the lodge. As she was putting it down she heard the tramp of horses' feet, and raising her head, looked through the window. The next instant her cheeks flushed scarlet; she dropped the child into a chair, and rushing to the gate, threw it open, and stood gazing down the road. Yes, it was he! no mistaking his figure, even if she had, not recognised the horse. It was he riding so close to the lady by his side, bending over her and looking down, into her upturned face. So preoccupied that he never even bestowed a glance upon the place so well known to him, so frequently visited in bygone days. And she, who was she? Kate could see that she was slim, could see her fair hair gathered in a knot beneath hat,--it must be the woman of whom Simnel had spoken. And Kate Mellon gave a loud groan, and clenched her nails into the palms of her hands, and stood looking after them with quivering lips and a face as pale as death. Just at that moment two grooms came riding round the corner, side by side. The sound of their horses' feet recalled Kate to herself. She looked up, and in one of them recognised Beresford's man. She collected herself by a great effort, and beckoned to him. The man saw her, touched his hat, and rode up at once, leaving his companion to proceed by himself. "William," said Kate, "who's that lady riding with your master?" "Mrs. Schröder, miss; Saxe-Coburg Square. Mr. Schröder drives pair of chestnuts, miss, in mail-pheayton, plain black harness. May have noticed 'em; often in the Park, miss." "Ah! No; I think not. Schröder,--Saxe-Coburg Square, you said?"