“How do you know?” asked Violet. “He has not said a word to me.” “No, I don’t suppose he will till this evening; all the same, he is going. The last words he said in that fantastic interview with the old woman were, that he would leave the house to-day, only that he was too late to catch the 8.15, but that he’d go to-morrow; and he has given orders for the cart for the luggage, and the brougham to take you to the station.” “This is dreadful,” said the girl. “Dicky, it was the day after to-morrow——” “Yes; at two in the morning _we_ were to start.” They had wandered far by this. They had crossed the drive and entered the woods on the other side, walking in the direction of the Druids’ Altar. Breaking into a little glade they found themselves before the ruin of a tree, the bole of a great oak, broken off some ten feet from the ground; it was the same oak in which Mr Murphy had been hiding on the day we first made his acquaintance. “Let us sit down for a minute and think,” said the girl, pointing to the moss-grown roots of the old tree. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXIII BILLY CROOM “But the game is not played out yet,” said Mr Fanshawe; “we have nearly twenty-four hours before us. I’ll hocus the horses, I’ll get Patsy to take the lynch-pins out of the brougham, I’ll do something—anything—before letting him win like that. The case is desperate. It will be two years before you are of age and your own mistress.” “Two years, three months and three—no—four days,” said Miss Lestrange. “He will take you away from here and bottle you up somewhere, or put you in Chancery or something—I know him! He will keep you so close I will never be able to see you or speak to you. He will intercept my letters—we will be able to make no plans. We will be separated two years certain—I may die, you may die—you may get to care for some one else. I have a conviction that if we don’t carry out our plan, and go away with one another day after to-morrow, something will divide us for ever.” “Dicky!” said the girl. “Yes?” “You know what you said about doing something to the horses or the carriage.” “Yes.” “Don’t—leave everything to me.” “What will you do?” “Never mind; I have made a plan.” “Tell me it,” said Dicky. “I may be able to improve on it.” “I will do as Mr Boxall has done.” “But you haven’t a glass eye.” “No, but I can catch influenza.” “Hurrah!” cried Dicky. “I never thought of that—but can you?” “What?” “Do the thing properly. What are the symptoms of influenza?” “You sneeze,” said Violet. “Can you?” “No, I’m afraid I can’t; however, we’ll leave that part out. I can say I’ve sneezed.” “What are the other symptoms?” “Pains in the bones and headache—Dicky!” Miss Lestrange suddenly pinched her companion’s arm. “What?” “Look!” A broad, red face was peeping at them from behind a tree-bole.