“_Holà!_ Stop, then!” he cried to the coachman; and then to Eustace, “Come hither, young wanderer. To see the ghost of the Chevalier--your hapless Charles Edward--standing by that stone, would not more have surprised me. Jump in, then. There is no objection to his taking the fourth place, I suppose, Harold?” Mr. Jerningham bowed, with an air which implied that, upon a subject so utterly indifferent to him as the secretary’s movements, he could have no opinion but that of his friend. “Why, how bewildered you look, Eustace!” exclaimed M. de Bergerac, as the young man took his place in the carriage with the manner of a sleep-walker. “And yet you must have expected to see us. You followed me down here with your papers. What foolish devotion!--Tell your man to drive on, Harold.” Eustace had recovered himself a little by this time, and had shaken hands with Helen, whose too expressive face betrayed an emotion no less profound than his own. Nor were those eloquent glances lost upon Mr. Jerningham, who watched the young people closely, from beneath thoughtful brows. “And so you thought your French documents worth a pilgrimage to Scotland?” said M. de Bergerac. “No, indeed, sir. This meeting is only a happy accident for me. I knew you were in Scotland. They told me as much in Greenlands; but they could tell me no more.” “But in that case, what brings you here?” cried the Frenchman. “I am here with my uncle--on business.” “On business!” exclaimed M. de Bergerac, looking at his secretary, in amazement. Harold Jerningham also regarded the young man, with a new sharpness of scrutiny. “On business!” repeated M. de Bergerac. “But what business could possibly bring you into these remote wilds?--to the utmost limits of your civilization.” “Perhaps it can scarcely be called business,” replied Eustace. “It would be nearer the mark to call it a voyage of discovery. I came from Paris when my work was done, and found Greenlands deserted. My time was my own, awaiting your return. My uncle and I had a fancy for a holiday, and we came here.” “It is, at least, a remarkable coincidence.” “Very remarkable,” said Mr. Jerningham, with a suspicious look. He was not inclined to regard the meeting as a coincidence. The young adventurer had, no doubt, been informed as to their whereabouts, and had followed them. And yet of their _precise_ whereabouts he could not have been informed, for beyond the border of Aberdeenshire neither Mr. Jerningham’s steward nor any one else had been apprised of their movements. “Unless there were secret communications between Helen and him,” thought Harold Jerningham. And this seemed utterly impossible. To suspect Helen--to suspect the girl whom he had learned to adore as the very type of all feminine excellence, the incarnate ideal of womanly innocence! Great heaven, to discover deceit _there_! “It would be a fitting end to my career,” he thought, bitterly. “Your uncle is travelling with you, then?” said M. de Bergerac.