I heard the boy say, “Thank ye,” and then the footsteps of the man coming nearer to me. My only hope was that I might perhaps escape him in the blinding fog by crouching under the hedge till he had passed; but, to my horror, he was coming as slowly and as cautiously as I. I had found my way to the hedge and knelt down close under it, my face almost in among the briers and thorns. He passed me; I could see the vague form as it went by. But in my joy at the sight I drew a sharp breath; he turned back, groped for me, found, and raised me to my feet, all without a word. I closed my eyes and shuddered. For the first moment I felt too exhausted by the excitement of those awful minutes to struggle much. I could only feebly try to push him off, crying brokenly-- “Don’t--don’t hurt me!” “Hurt you, my own darling! Look up at me. Heaven help me, I have nearly frightened you to death!” I looked up with a cry, and flung my arms round his neck. It was Laurence, his face so haggard and so dirty as to be scarcely recognizable; but he told me, as he kissed me again and again, that I must not mind that, for he had travelled night and day without a moment’s rest since he got my letter on the morning of the previous day. “And, thank Heaven, I am in time, in time!” he cried, as he pressed me again in his arms. “In time for what, Laurence? I should have been near you in two days,” said I wonderingly. “We were to start to-morrow morning.” “To-morrow morning! Just a few hours more, and I should have lost you!” cried the poor fellow in such agony of horror and relief at the same time that only to see him in that state brought the tears to my own eyes. “Lost me, Laurence? Oh, do tell me what you mean!” I cried piteously. “Oh, Violet, are you still so innocent as to think that that man would have brought you to me?” “Why not?” asked I, in a whisper. “Because he loves you himself,” said he between his teeth--“if the feeling even you inspire in such a man can be called love. Your innocence would not have protected you much longer. Oh, I was a fool, a blind fool, ever to leave you, for father--mother--anybody in the world! But I did not know quite all until your own sweet naïve letter opened my stupid eyes.” “Oh, Laurence, Laurence, what dreadful things are you saying?” I cried, shaking with fear even in his arms. “Never mind, my own darling; you are safe now,” said he very gently. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I ought to have warned you long ago; but I could not bear to--” “But, Laurence, my mother is going with us. Didn’t I tell you that? I had a letter from her--” “Which she never wrote. On my way back to London, I telegraphed to your mother to meet me at Charing Cross Station, and there she told me she had never seen Mr. Rayner and never heard a word of the journey to Monaco.”