Mr. Kelly smiled, and the smile lent to his face a peculiar attractiveness. Somehow he had never felt disposed to smile in Cecilia's presence. "Only in the morning?" he asked. "But come to supper just the same. At half-past eight." Felix agreed, with the private addition, "I needn't stay long, if he begins to preach." Then Mr. Kelly crossed the road, to speak to somebody who seemed to be waiting for a word: while Felix dashed on to his own door, less than half-a-street distant. On the step, Mrs. Crofton met him. "A letter at last, sir. But it isn't from Miss Anderson nor Miss Lettice. I know their handwritings." Felix recognised Dr. Bryant's, and opened it in haste. "Why! What—" "Eh, sir? Nothing wrong?" "They've not got there! Never arrived! What can it mean?" Mrs. Crofton's lower jaw dropped, and she burst into a series of exclamations. Felix read his note again, deaf to her audible astonishment! "QUARRINGTON COTTAGE "Friday afternoon. "DEAR ANDERSON,—My niece and Lettice did not arrive yesterday; and no letter has come to-day. The weather has been sufficient to account for delay; but I think a telegram might have been sent, to prevent my useless drive into Bristol. Pray let me know when I am to expect them.— "Yours faithfully, "MAURICE BRYANT." "Extraordinary!" muttered Felix. "Nothing bad, sir, I hope? Not really bad?" "Quite bad enough. Nobody knows where they are, or what has become of them." It relieved Felix to give out this information fiercely, almost as if the landlady herself were to blame; and the colouring on her high cheek-bones perceptibly lessened. A railway accident! A collision, and everybody killed! The train snowed up, and passengers frozen to death! These were only a few of the suggestions, poured out in a stream for the further distraction of Felix. Or Miss Anderson has been taken suddenly worse, and they had had to stop half-way. This came nearer the mark, and had also a greater air of probability; and the conjecture filled Felix with foreboding. No light cause would, he knew, have delayed Cecilia. She must have been ill indeed, before she would have resolved to sacrifice her ticket and that of Lettice, and to go to the heavy expense of lodgings or hotel. How such expense could be met, Felix had no idea. He was only convinced that Cecilia would not incur it, short of absolute necessity. Then came the question, why had not Lettice written? Surely her first impulse would have been to tell Felix all!