The telegraph operator was not a particular friend of his. Indeed, they had lately quarrelled over some delayed telegrams with regard to an order for sardines, and the red-headed operator glanced curiously at the usually busy captain, who, in a strangely lazy way, lounged about his office for the space of an hour and a half. At the end of that time, however, Captain White disappeared. He had been stretched on a bench reading a newspaper, but at the stroke of twelve he got up, looked at his watch, and dawdled outside. Once around the corner of the brick building, however, he hastily entered a carriage, made some remark in a low voice to the driver, and was conducted at a smart pace through the town, and at a rattling one outside it, until he reached French Cross. Without the formality of a ring he entered the old château, and ran up-stairs to Miss Gastonguay's room. "H. Robinson is on his way down!" he ejaculated, when the door was thrown open. "He has got wind of the affair. I learned telegraphy when I was young, and just heard the message humming over the wires. We must get you out of this," and he looked at the man on the sofa as if he had known him all his life. The latter got up, and, in weary haste and without surprise, donned his feminine garments. Miss Gastonguay grew deathly pale. "What about Derrice?" "What about Derrice's good name?" said Captain White, sharply. "Come, let us get out of this. Where is the other one?" and he brushed past her to the dressing-room. Miss Gastonguay stared helplessly at her brother. His shaking hands were pinning the shawl together. With a groan she seized a hat and wrap for herself, and followed him as he slipped noiselessly down the staircase. CHAPTER XXXI. H. ROBINSON AGAIN. Justin would not permit Derrice to go alone to French Cross. Captain White had assured him that he had better allow her to do so; that to accompany her at such an unusual time would be sure to call attention to them, but Justin would not be persuaded. He relied on the presence of the large number of strangers in the town to avert observation from their movements. In any case, he would not leave his young wife to face alone this crisis in her life. And now he must tell her of their mission. She knew that her father had not been well, but she did not dream that his illness was serious. "Derrice," he said, looking into her quietly smiling face, "I have not told you why we are going to French Cross." "No; you are strangely mysterious, but I always like to go with you whether I understand or not." "Darling, there is some one waiting to see you,--some one whom you dearly love." "Not my father? Oh, not my father,--my dear, dear father?" His manner was convincing. For a minute her joy overcame her, then she burst into questions. "Why had she not known,--why had he not come to her?" "You shall ask him, Derrice, but you will be cautious. He is ill."