“Unless they stopped in the fields.” “Is your horse very tired?” “No--he bain’t so fresh as he moight be, but----” “I want to return to the station for a few minutes, and after that to resume my way to the barracks,” said Paul Desfrayne. “Drive as fast as you can.” So firmly persuaded was he of the reality of Lucia Guiscardini’s appearance on this lonely spot that he was resolved to seek some information of the clerk and porters at the railway. He reentered the shaky old vehicle; the stolid old driver whipped the weary old horse, and in a minute they were returning the way they came. There was just a possibility that he might surprise her at the station. What conceivable motive could she have had for coming hither? Probably to see Gilardoni, her legal and legitimate husband. But why visit him in this secret manner, when at any moment she could have commanded his presence at a place infinitely more suitable? There was not much doubt that her apparition boded evil. As the fly came in sight of the station, Paul had the satisfaction of seeing the last train for London slowly puff and snort its way along its destined iron track. “Wait here until I come back,” he said to the coachman, and then rushed into the station. “Did a lady dressed in black take a ticket here just now?” he asked of the ticket-clerk. “No, sir.” Paul Desfrayne looked about for one of the porters. After a little delay he found one half-asleep on a bench, for the last trains had departed for the night. He shook the man by the shoulder. “Did you see a lady dressed in black just now? I believe she must have gone by the train to London, and must have had a return ticket.” “I was not here when the train for London left, sir,” replied the man respectfully. “The other porter was on duty--I was in the office.” “Where is he?” demanded Paul Desfrayne. He seemed destined to be baffled at every turn. “I’m afraid he’s gone, sir.” An inquiry resulted in proving the fear to be correct. Another inquiry elicited the fact that he lived a mile and a half away across some fields. In no very enviable frame of mind, Captain Desfrayne returned to his waiting fly, to continue his broken journey to the barracks. “Did you find her, sur?” asked the flyman. The young man shook his head, too much dejected, and even physically exhausted, to be able to otherwise reply. At length he reached his quarters, when he dismissed the vehicle in which he had come. To-morrow he meant to seek once again for evidence as to whether the lady dressed in black had been seen by any other than himself. His rooms seemed strangely silent as he approached them. Gilardoni had hitherto contrived to make his presence cheerful, and always had a reality as well as words of welcome for his master. A bright glow of pleasant light, gleaming through doors ajar, a slight movement of ever-busy feet or hands, had given under his influence a faint tinge of _home_.