And he went out. He was full of a new idea, which had suddenly struck him even while he was talking to Mr. Cornthwaite. He would not go to London; poor little Claire, abandoned by her lover, or rather by his father, would not have stayed there. It had flashed into his mind that there was one spot in the world to which she would direct her wandering steps if left all alone in the world. It was the little Yorkshire town of Chelmsley, where her mother lay buried. On the following morning, therefore, Bram took train northwards, and, reaching before noon the pretty country town, went straight from the station to the big, square, open market-place, which, with the little irregular old-fashioned dwellings which surrounded it, might be called, not only the heart, but the whole of the town. It was market-day, and at the primitive stalls which were ranged in neat rows, stood the farmers’ wives and daughters before their tempting wares. It was a cold but not unpleasant day, and the sight was a pretty one. But Bram had no eyes, no heart for any sight but one. He went to the principal inn, ordered some bread and cheese, and asked if there were any persons living in the town bearing the name of Cornthwaite; this he knew to have been the maiden name of Claire’s mother. The innkeeper knew of none. There had been a family of that name living at a big house outside the town; but that was years before. Still Bram did not give up hope. It was something stronger than instinct which told him that to this, the spot where her mother’s childhood had been passed, Claire would make her way. Disappointed in his inquiries, Bram set about what was almost a house-to-house search. And towards the evening, when the lights began to appear in the houses, he was successful. He was searching the cottages on the outskirts of the town, and in one of them, crouching before the fire in a tiny room, where geraniums in pots formed a screen before the window, he saw Claire. He stared at her for some seconds, until the tears welled up into his eyes. Then he tapped at the window-pane, and she started up with a low cry. CHAPTER XIX. SANCTUARY. With his heart in his mouth Bram waited. Would she come out to him? She stood up, with the firelight shining on her figure, but leaving her face in shadow, so that he could not tell what expression she wore. He wondered whether she knew him. After waiting for a few moments he tapped again at the window, advancing his face as close as possible to the glass. Then, as she still did not move, he stepped back, and was going towards the door, when by a quick gesture she checked him, and seemed to intimate that he was to wait for her to come out to him. At the same moment she left the room. Bram waited.