Gradually the chilly, searching wind increased in force, and as it did so, it drove the fog--which, white on the Essex marshes, had become black as ink in London--up the river, involving town after town, and village after village, in its sooty folds, so that, as evening fell over Hampton, the fog was almost as thick there as it had been in London at midday. A train was due at the Molesey Station at five o’clock; but there were several detentions upon the line, and a long one (of course) at Clapham Junction, and the Palace clock had chimed out a quarter to seven upon the darkness, when a fly, heavily loaded with luggage, drove up through the mean barrack court, to the stately principal entrance of the magnificent dwelling erected by Cardinal Wolsey in the plenitude of his wealth and power. A single gas-light flickered above the gateway as the vehicle stopped, and illumined the cloaked figure of Jack Watchet, a smart young soldier of the 29th Lancers, who stood sentry at the entrance. “Some old cat out late!” This was the first irreverent thought which occurred to Jack’s mind as he stood in the conventional attitude of military respect, when, to his surprise and delight, a young lady--without waiting for the slow old coachman to disencumber himself of his numerous wraps--opened the fly door herself before he had time to offer his assistance, and springing out, followed by a beautiful spaniel, confronted him on the pavement. “Can you be so kind as to direct me to Miss Manwaring’s set of apartments in the Palace?” asked the young lady in a clear, musical voice. “It minded me of a mavish,” said Jack--who was a Norfolk man, and had loved to hear the throstles singing in the leafy lanes of his native county--when describing the incident in bed that night to his particular chum and comrade, Tom Wakefield. On the present occasion he answered--“Don’t know the name, Miss; but I will soon see;” and so saying, the young soldier, who felt as if a ray of sunshine had burst through the fog and darkness, turned from the side into the central arch of the grand old Tudor gateway, where, by the uncertain light of a still dimmer lamp than that which flickered outside, he looked down the list of the names of those ladies and gentlemen who, by the grace and favour of our Sovereign Lady the Queen, enjoyed the privilege of occupying apartments in her Royal Palace of Hampton Court. No name of Manwaring, however, appeared upon the list. “The rooms I am in search of,” said the young lady, “were those lately occupied by Lady Glengriskin;” and then Jack pointed out the following inscription:-- FOUNTAIN COURT. _Staircase. Number Ten._ GROUND FLOOR. Lady Lavinia Gathercole. Admiral Grogrum, C.B. SECOND FLOOR. Miss Strong. Lady Glengriskin.