Molly made a little _moue_; with the selfishness of love, she did not approve of Godfrey leaving her, if only for so short a time. And, if the truth be confessed, I fear she was a little jealous of the man who was to be responsible for his absence. It is not always that a sweetheart is any too well disposed toward her lover’s bachelor friends. For some reason, Fensden’s photograph had prejudiced her against him. She was resolved to be just; but she felt convinced in her own mind that she would never be able to say that she really liked or trusted the man. She did not tell Godfrey this. In accordance with the arrangements he had made, that afternoon, at about three o’clock, Godfrey drove off to the station to meet his friend. He was looking forward to seeing him, if only that he might show him how great was the difference between the sketch the other had drawn of his future wife that night in the desert, and the reality. I fancy if England had been searched through that day, a happier young man than the master of Detwich would have been difficult to find. Yet, though he could not guess it, the climax of his life was only a few hours’ distant. As he drove along, he thought of Molly and the happiness that was to be his portion in the future. Then his thoughts turned to Teresina. While he had prospered in the world, she had lost what little happiness she had ever possessed. He determined to discuss her affairs with Fensden on the first available opportunity, when doubtless the latter would be able to suggest a way in which he might assist her. By the time he had arrived at this reflection, he had reached the station, and the groom was standing at the horse’s head. Having placed the reins under the patent clip, he descended from the cart and went on to the platform. The station-master saluted him respectfully, and informed him that the train had already been signalled. Indeed, the words had scarcely left that functionary’s lips before a whistle was heard in the cutting, and a moment later it came into view. As the train swept past him Godfrey caught a glimpse of the man he had come to meet, gathering together his travelling things, in a first-class carriage. “How are you, my dear old fellow?” he cried, as he turned the handle of the door. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you! I am afraid you have had a cold journey. Let me take some of your things.” Victor graciously permitted the other to assist him with his luggage, and then he himself descended from the carriage. They shook hands and afterward strolled in the direction of the gate. Victor was attired in a magnificent travelling ulster, and a neat deer-stalker’s hat. An orange-coloured tie peeped from the opening under his beard, and his hands were as daintily gloved as a lady’s. Altogether, as he walked down the platform, he presented as artistic a figure as Detwich had seen for a very long time.