"Marmaduke," say I, seizing my husband by the arm as the dog-cart comes round to the door for final orders, preparatory to starting for the station (it is now almost five o'clock), "is William going for Billy? I wish _I_ could go. You don't think he will expect---" I hesitate. Marmaduke reads my face attentively for a minute, then ponders a little. "You think he may be disappointed if welcomed only by a groom?" he says, with a smile. "Take that little pucker off your forehead, Phyllis: I will bring your Billy to you myself," and mounting the dog-cart, drives off to the station without another word. As I have already said, it is now five o'clock. It will take him just half an hour to reach Carston and meet the train. Ten minutes at least must be wasted finding Billy, getting his traps together, and settling things generally; then half an hour more to drive home; so that altogether one hour and ten minutes must go by before I can hope to see them. This appears an interminable age; all the day has not seemed so long as this last hour and ten minutes. At a quarter to six I run upstairs and get myself dressed for dinner--although we do not dine until half-past seven--hurrying through my toilet with the most exaggerated haste, as if fearing they may arrive before it is finished; and I would not miss being the first to greet my boy for all the world contains. When I once more reach the drawing-room it still wants five minutes to the promised time. Lady Blanche Going and one or two of the men are lounging here. She raises her head as I enter, and scans me languidly. "Do we dine earlier than usual to-night, Mrs. Carrington?" she asks, with curiosity. "No; not earlier than usual. It was a mere whim of mine getting my dressing over so soon." "Oh, I quite forgot your brother was coming," she says, with a faint smile, bending over her work again. She looks as though she were pitying my youthful enthusiasm I make no reply. Taking up a book, I seat myself near a front window, as far as possible from the other occupants of the room, and pretend to read. A quarter past six. Surely they ought to be here by this. Twenty-five minutes past six! I rise, regardless of comment, and gaze up the avenue. Oh, if anything should have prevented his coming! Are not masters always tyrants? But even in such a case ought not Marmaduke to be back by this to tell me of it? Or, yet more sickening thought, _can_ any accident have happened to the train, and is Marmaduke afraid to bring me home the evil tidings? I am just picturing to myself Billy's chestnut locks be-dabbled with his gore, when something smites upon mine ear. Surely it is the sound of wheels. I flatten my nose against the window-panes and strain my eyes into the gathering twilight.