Miles's delicacy, ever the subject rising uppermost in his mind, occupied his thoughts as he walked along. He wondered to himself whether he would outgrow it, whether a winter abroad would set him up, and whether it would not be wise to bring him to London, and show him to one of the great chest doctors. The sight of the water, as he approached the Serpentine, recalled to his mind the pond at Wareham, and the expedition which had been the cause of the mischief. He remembered, with a start, how near he had left the children to the tempting spot, for the pond was almost within sight of the field where they were reaping. For a moment he debated whether he had been wise to trust Humphrey again; but then he reflected how soon Virginie must have joined them, and how many people there were about. Besides, they were quite taken up with the reaping, and when he remembered his own severe words to Humphrey, and the boy's penitence and remorse, he could hardly fancy he would transgress again. Still, he could not get it out of his head, and as he stood watching the water, he wished there were such a thing as the magic glass he had read to the children about; that he might see as far as Wareham, and satisfy himself about them. Had his wish been gratified at that moment, he would have seen Humphrey and Miles astride on the rotten bough, with flushed and exultant faces. The same change of weather now took place as was taking place at Wareham. Umbrellas and carriage-hoods were quickly put up, and very soon the park was empty. Sir Everard retraced his steps to his club and was closing his umbrella leisurely in the hall, when a telegram was put into his hand. He glanced his eye hastily over it, and then dashed into the street and hailed a hansom. "Waterloo Station," he shouted, as he threw himself into it; "double fare if you catch the train!" * * * * * Bustle and confusion, though no doubt, uninteresting and unpoetical, are, certainly, at such times useful. They keep the mind from dwelling too much on the painful, and thus rub off the sharp edge of the first moment. So it was not till Sir Everard was in the train, and tearing swiftly, though quietly to Wareham, that he realized his position. Till then, his thoughts had been entirely taken up with passing this carriage, shaving that omnibus, or rounding that corner. He had chafed at every stoppage, fumed at every delay, and been able to think of nothing but whether or no he should catch the train. And now, the strain over, he leant back in the railway carriage and examined the telegram at leisure. There was not much to be learnt from it; it was terse and unsatisfactory, like most messages of the kind--just sufficiently clear not to quell all hope, and yet undefined enough to give reins to the imagination. It contained these words: "An accident has happened. Both the young gentlemen have fallen into the pond, but neither are drowned. Come directly."