But Carshaw's pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a tall form entered it--Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the hotel, suspecting that all was not well--had followed her, lost her, and now had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face, toward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this woman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with bewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred's ear: "It must be to-night or never! Decide now. 'Yes' or 'No.'" "Yes," said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear. "At eleven to-night?" "Yes," she murmured. Rachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived to curb it. "What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?" she said. Winifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that austere woman. All the blood fled from the girl's face. She could only say brokenly: "I am coming, aunt," and went following with a dejected air a yard behind her captor. In this order they walked till they arrived at the door of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the other. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. "Go to your room," she muttered. "I'm ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange man! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse." Winifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives. Indeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she knew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her aunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was inclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But she was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with his earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with "aunty," his queer suspicions--so oddly borne out by events--might be dissipated. "I'm sorry if I seem to have done wrong," she said, laying a timid hand on Rachel Craik's arm. "If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why have we left New York? Why--" "Do you want to see me in jail?" came the harsh whisper. "No. Oh, no. But--" "Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I'm in danger, and you, you foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!" Winifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on the first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see neither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low for a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she hastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf were located.