"To-morrow is Sunday,--no day for travelling," said Vivian. "The Fitzwilliams are at Lilford Cross Roads on Monday,--draw back towards the kennels;--afternoon train up from Peterborough at 5.30;--branch from Oundle to meet it, 4.50--have your traps sent there. It's all arranged by Providence. On Monday evening I go to Gatcombe,--so that it will all fit." "You need not be disturbed. A solitary Sunday will enable you to write all your official correspondence for the fortnight." "That I should have done, even in your presence." "I must be at home on Monday morning. Give my love to them all at Lilford Cross Roads. I shall be down again before long if my sister can spare me;--or perhaps I may induce her to come and rough it here for a week or two." He was as good as his word, and travelled up to London, and thence across to Hendon Hall, on the Sunday. It might have been said that no young man could have had stronger inducements for clinging to his sport, or fewer reasons for abandoning it. His stables were full of horses; the weather was good; the hunting had been excellent; his friends were all around him; and he had nothing else to do. His sister intended to remain for yet another week at Castle Hautboy, and Hendon Hall of itself had certainly no special attractions at the end of November. But Marion Fay was on his mind, and he had arranged his scheme. His scheme, as far as he knew, would be as practicable on a Tuesday as on a Monday; but he was impatient, and for the nonce preferred Marion Fay, whom he probably would not find, to the foxes which would certainly be found in the neighbourhood of Lilford Cross Roads.