"Not exactly, but I'm sure I've heard no good of it; there's some sort of mystery, or scandal attached to it, I believe, and folks say the youngsters are terrors. I am sorry that is the girl's destination; she's young and pretty--evidently a lady, I should say, and looks as if she's had trouble. But there, one can't pick up strangers' burdens, we've plenty of anxieties of our own just now." And the subject of Margaret Woodford and her possible sorrows and difficulties passed from their minds as they emerged through the station door, jumped into the gigs awaiting them, and drove away to their homes. In a few minutes more the train reached Steynham. The girl gazed up and down the platform, feeling more friendless than ever now she no longer heard the kindly voice of her fellow-traveller. She felt she would have been glad if she could have had his companionship until she was safely under the care of her employers. This tall, elegant-looking girl getting out at Steynham did not pass unnoticed; her high-bred air and softly modulated voice quickly attracted the attention of the railway officials, who gathered round her as she stood, the one solitary passenger, beside her box. "Is there a carriage to meet me?" she asked. "I don't think so, miss," replied a porter, running to take a look up the road. "No, there is no vehicle here, and none in sight, miss. Who were you expecting?" The question was put with a desire to render assistance, for the Steynham porters knew all the surrounding gentry, and a good deal about them too, if village gossip was to be relied upon. "I am expecting someone to meet me from Mr. Medhurst's--Oaklands is the address, near Wychcliff." "Near Wychcliff--Oaklands!" repeated one or two of the officials. "Don't know it, miss--don't know the name." "Then--what can I do?" said Margaret, a slight quiver in her voice. "I'll ask the station-master," said the first speaker, and, hurrying to the ticket-office, he soon returned with a fresh authority. "_What_ place was it you wanted?" he asked politely. "Oaklands," repeated Margaret for the third time--"Mr. Medhurst's." A shade of surprise crept over the station-master's face. "Did you say _Oaklands_?" he repeated. "Yes--yes, that is the name. Oh, you do know it?" "Certainly," he replied, "and I fancy a pony-trap from there met the earlier down-train; a man-servant and a little girl came and watched the passengers alight, and then drove off again." "Oh, that is it then! They must have made some mistake in the time of the train. Now, what can I do? Is this place far away?" asked Margaret, somewhat anxiously. "Several miles, miss. It's right up on the hills." For a few moments nervous fear assailed her, and then she said bravely, "Can you get me a cab?" "I'll see, miss," one of the porters answered civilly. "You come into the waiting-room, and I'll go and fetch Mr. Cramp." "Who is he?" she inquired.