"No one. I have been waiting in the shrubs for--oh, hours! I saw the visitors go away--an old gentleman and a young one--and I saw your shadow behind the blind," and she pointed to the window. "I have been outside waiting, and dreading to knock in case you should not be alone." "You--you saw my shadow?" he said, with an uneasy smile. "Did you see--I mean, what was I doing?" "I did not see distinctly; I was listening for voices. Oh, Stephen, I am so weary!" He drew a chair for her, and, motioning her to sit, mixed a glass of brandy-and-water, and stood over her holding her wrist and looking down at her with an uneasy smile. "Now," he said, taking the glass from her, "tell me all about it--how you came, and why? Speak in a whisper." "You don't need to ask me why, Stephen," she said, leaning forward and laying her hand upon his arm, her dark eyes fixed on his half-hidden ones. "Why did you leave me so long without a word?" "I will tell you directly," he answered. "Tell me how you came--alone! Great Heaven!" "Alone, yes; why not? I was not afraid. I came by the train." "But--but----" he said, with a little flush and a shifting glance, "how did you know where I was?" "You would never guess! You do not deserve that I should tell you. Well, I followed Slummers!" "Followed Slummers!" he echoed, with a forced smile. "Yes, I met him in the street; you are going to ask me why I did not ask him where you were," she broke off with a smile and a shake of her head. "Because I knew he would not tell me. Stephen, I do not like that man, and he does not like me. Why do you trust him so?" "You followed Slummers--well?" "To the station. I was behind him when he took his ticket, and I took one for the same place. I was quite close behind him, but he did not see me. I got into the train at the last moment, and I followed him from the station here." "My dear Laura," he murmured, soothingly; "how rash, how thoughtless!" "Was it?" she said. "Perhaps it was. I did not stop to think." "But now--now what are you to do?" "Don't be angry with me, Stephen, now I _am_ here. You must tell me what I am to do." Then her eyes wandered round the house. "What a large house! Is it yours, Stephen?" "Eh?" he said, starting slightly. "I--I--don't know--I mean it was my uncle's. I was going to write to-night and tell you where I was, and why I did not write before." "Why didn't you?" she said, with gentle reproach. "Because," he replied, "I could not--it was impossible. I could not leave the house, and could not trust the letter to a servant. My uncle has been very ill: he--he--lies dead up-stairs." "Up-stairs! Oh, Stephen!" "You see," he exclaimed reproachfully, "that I have a good excuse, that I have not desert--left you without a word for no cause." "Forgive me, Stephen, dear!" she murmured, penitently. "Do not be angry with me. Say you are glad to see me now I have come."