"All right, sir; the brougham is waiting;" then he looked round expectantly, and Frank went and got Stella out. The old man just glanced at her, not curiously, but in a mechanical sort of way, as if he were a machine, and he turned toward the carriage and took up the bags. Stella laid her hand on Frank's arm with a questioning gesture; it was not exactly one of fear or of suspicion, but a strange, instinctive commingling of both sensations. "Ask him, Frank!" she murmured. Frank nodded, understanding her in a moment, and stopped the strange old man. "Wait a moment," he said; "you come from----" The man looked round. "Better not mention names here, sir," he said. "I am obeying my orders. The brougham is waiting outside." "It is all right," answered Frank; "he knows my name. He is quite right to be careful." They followed the man down the stairs; a brougham was in waiting, as he had said, and he put the bags inside and held the door open for them to enter. Stella paused--even at that moment she paused with the same instinctive feeling of distrust--but Frank whispered, "Be quick," and she entered. The old man closed the door. "You know where to drive," said Frank, in a low voice. "I know, sir," he said, in the same expressionless, apathetic fashion, and mounted to the box. Stella looked at the crowded streets through which they drove at a rapid pace, and a strange feeling of helplessness took possession of her. She would not own to herself that she was disappointed at Leycester's not meeting her, but his absence filled her with a vague alarm and disquietude, which she mentally assured herself were foolish and unwoman-like. But the vastness and strangeness of the great city overwhelmed her. "Do you know where Bruton street is?" she asked, in a low voice. "No," said Frank; "but it must be in the West-end somewhere, of course. He must be going to Leycester's rooms. I wonder what prevented him from meeting us." Stella wondered too, little dreaming that Leycester was pacing up and down the platform at Waterloo at that moment, and impatiently awaiting the arrival of the train that was, he thought, to bring his love. "I expect," said Frank, "that something turned up at the last moment--something to do with the ceremony." A sudden dash of color came into Stella's face, but it went again the next moment, and she leant back and watched the people hurrying along the streets, with eyes that scarcely saw them. The brougham, a well appointed one, driven by a man in plain livery, seemed to wind about a great deal and cover a long stretch of ground, but at last it drove under an archway and into a quiet square, and stopped before one of a series of tall and dingy-looking houses. Frank let down the window as the old man opened the door. "Is this Bruton street?" said Frank. "Yes, sir," said the man, quietly. Frank stepped out and looked around. "These are lawyers' offices," he said.