And Cheiron sat musing in his chair, as was his habit. "The magnet of her soul is drawing his," he said to himself. "Well, now that this has begun to work, we must leave things to Fate." But he did not guess how passion on the one side and complete love and trust upon the other were precipitously forcing Fate's hand. The possibility of John Derringham's sending a message to Halcyone was very slender. The post was out of the question--she probably never got any letters, and the arrival of one in a man's handwriting would no doubt be the cause of endless comment in the household. The foolishness had been not to make a definite appointment with her when they had parted before dawn. But they had been too overcome with love to think of anything practical in those last moments, and now the only thing would be for him to go again to-night to the tree, and hope that she would meet him there. But the sky was clouding over, and rain looked quite ready to fall. As a last resource he could send Demetrius--his own valet he would not have trusted a yard. The rain kept off for his journey to Bristol, and his business was got through with rapidity. And if the registrar did connect the name of John Derringham, barrister-at-law, of the Temple, London, with John Derringham, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, he was a man of discretion and said nothing about it. It was quite late when Mr. Carlyon's guest returned to his roof--cross-country trains were so tiresome--and it had just begun to pour with rain, so there was no use expecting that Halcyone would be there by the tree. And bed, with a rather feverish sensation of disappointment, seemed John Derringham's portion.