Hugo held the reins loosely between his fingers, while the horses climbed slowly up the hill: he hummed to himself the half-melancholy air of the German _Volkslied_--_Der Verschmähete_; and Sebastian listened attentively with a half-smile. ‘Aren’t you tired, Hugo? Let me take the reins.’ ‘As you will!’ said Hugo, changing places with him, and they turned homewards again. ‘Do you remember when we last heard _Der Verschmähete_?’ asked Hugo, smiling to himself. ‘Perfectly,’ said Sebastian, concisely. ‘Corona Müller sang it, and....’ ‘There was instrumental music, too,’ put in Hugo; ‘one of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsodies--ay, ay! And it was a Rhapsody too! How splendidly she played it! It would have delighted Liszt himself. Do you remember the end?’ ‘Yes, yes! _Un poco pesante!_’ said Sebastian, who listened attentively to the reminiscences, but volunteered no remark upon the subject. They were now again in Thanshope, and the dusk was beginning to fall, though it was still far from dark. There had been a silence. Now as they turned into the main street, Hugo, suddenly taking courage, looked up into his companion’s face, and said, ‘Sebastian, do you know where she went with her father, from Wetzlar?’ ‘No I have seen nothing, and heard nothing of her, since then.’ ‘But you have inquired?’ ‘Inquired--naturally. But--ah, there’s my handsome young democrat. Just take a good look at him, Hugo--quick! before he turns off--do you hear? What? _Impossible!_’ Hugo had touched his arm, so that his attention was diverted from the figure of Myles Heywood, who was in the act of turning off down a side street, and directed towards that of a young lady going straight down the main street, and whom they were now in the act of passing. It was nothing remarkable for an expression of lively excitement, pleasurable or otherwise, to be seen upon Hugo’s face, but such a look upon Sebastian Mallory’s countenance was a rare visitor; and it painted itself there at this moment, as his eye fastened upon the slight figure of the girl, who was pursuing her way, looking neither to right nor left of her. Would she see them? Would she turn? No--yes--no! The phaeton had just passed her, when she casually raised her eyes, and glanced towards the road; and then into her face, too, leapt the same startled look--the same surprise and vivid emotion of some kind, as that which already brightened Sebastian’s. She made a visible pause, as her eyes fell upon the occupants of the carriage. Both hats were lifted, two deep bows were made at the same moment; four earnest eyes looked eagerly into her face. With a sudden, quick, warm flush, she returned the bow of the young men, and then they had driven on, and left her behind them. They were almost at home now, close to the Oakenrod. No word was spoken, until, as they sprang out of the carriage, their eyes met, Hugo’s full of inquiry, Sebastian’s of a trouble and excitement strange to them.