She knew that a few streets off there was a station on the District Railway. There, at least, she would find some distraction; there would be something to look at, something to listen to, instead of the dreadful stillness in which she had spent the day. Wrapping her cloak around her, she hurried on, enjoying the motion and the cold air, though the fog was stifling. When she reached the station, she went to the book-stall, and, carefully selecting two novels which promised a fair share of mental excitement and a society paper, she bought them and slipped them under her cloak. Her errand was now accomplished, but she was unwilling yet to return to that great, dismal house, so she sauntered for a few minutes up and down the platform. The place was chilly, draughty, and almost deserted, and she was thinking of returning home, when she heard the tinkle of an electric bell and the rattle of an approaching train. She stepped back into one of the arched recesses in the wall, to wait until the crowd of passengers, who were sure to alight, had gone by. Ten seconds more, and the deserted platform was alive with people. First came the third-class passengers--message-boys, porters, work-girls, stout women with babies. Then a scattered group of business men in heavy overcoats. And among them was James Semple. Not caring to be seen by him, Laura stepped back as far as she could, but she was in no danger, as she was in the shadow, and her veil was down. A man whom she did not recognise joined Semple. They seemed to have been travelling by the same train without knowing it. The two men passed her, walking slowly on account of the crowd, and conversing together as they went. ‘And Alec Lindsay is ill?’ she heard Semple say to his companion. ‘Yes; a bad cold, he says. I hope he won’t be able to leave the house for a week,’ was the reply. ‘Why?’ ‘Ah! you don’t understand. You think we are in sight of land. Not yet. In fact----’ Laura could hear no more, for Semple and Beattie (who was his companion) had passed her. But her curiosity was excited. She mingled with the crowd, and managed to get a little nearer to the speaker. But Beattie had dropped his voice, and she could only catch the words--‘must not be there when the will is read, on any account,’ when the two men reached the door of exit, and passed beyond her hearing. There was nothing Laura Mowbray loved so much as a secret. Here was one, she felt sure. Who was not to be present when the will was read? Alec Lindsay? They had been talking of his illness just before. Why should he not be present at the reading of the will? It could make no difference to anyone, surely, whether he was there or not. Who was this stranger who was interested in Mr. Lindsay’s will? There was no solution, however, to these questions; and Laura, after waiting a few minutes to avoid any chance of meeting Semple in the street, made the best of her way home.