‘Come, Cytherea, this is foolish--indeed it is--not opening the door.... I cannot comprehend what can be the matter with you. Nor can a doctor either, unless he sees you.’ Her voice had trembled more and more at each answer she gave, but nothing could induce her to come out and confront him. Hating scenes, Manston went back to the sitting-room, greatly irritated and perplexed. And there Cytherea from the adjoining room could hear him pacing up and down. She thought, ‘Suppose he insists upon seeing me--he probably may--and will burst open the door!’ This notion increased, and she sank into a corner in a half-somnolent state, but with ears alive to the slightest sound. Reason could not overthrow the delirious fancy that outside her door stood Manston and all the people in the hotel, waiting to laugh her to scorn. 9. HALF-PAST EIGHT TO ELEVEN P.M. In the meantime, Springrove was pacing up and down the arrival platform of the railway-station. Half-past eight o’clock--the time at which Owen’s train was due--had come, and passed, but no train appeared. ‘When will the eight-thirty train be in?’ he asked of a man who was sweeping the mud from the steps. ‘She is not expected yet this hour.’ ‘How is that?’ ‘Christmas-time, you see, ‘tis always so. People are running about to see their friends. The trains have been like it ever since Christmas Eve, and will be for another week yet.’ Edward again went on walking and waiting under the draughty roof. He found it utterly impossible to leave the spot. His mind was so intent upon the importance of meeting with Owen, and informing him of Cytherea’s whereabouts, that he could not but fancy Owen might leave the station unobserved if he turned his back, and become lost to him in the streets of the town. The hour expired. Ten o’clock struck. ‘When will the train be in?’ said Edward to the telegraph clerk. ‘In five-and-thirty minutes. She’s now at L----. They have extra passengers, and the rails are bad to-day.’ At last, at a quarter to eleven, the train came in. The first to alight from it was Owen, looking pale and cold. He casually glanced round upon the nearly deserted platform, and was hurrying to the outlet, when his eyes fell upon Edward. At sight of his friend he was quite bewildered, and could not speak. ‘Here I am, Mr. Graye,’ said Edward cheerfully. ‘I have seen Cytherea, and she has been waiting for you these two or three hours.’ Owen took Edward’s hand, pressed it, and looked at him in silence. Such was the concentration of his mind, that not till many minutes after did he think of inquiring how Springrove had contrived to be there before him. 10. ELEVEN O’CLOCK P.M.