"Oh, he's the man that has the fly. If it isn't out, it'll be here in half an hour." Half an hour! Her heart died at the prospect, as she followed her luggage down the platform into the stuffy little waiting-room. The window was closed, and it looked as if it ought to have a poster up with "TO LET" on the door. "The station is more comfortable, I think," said the porter, taking a considering look at the elegant figure in front of him, as, setting down her bags a moment, he turned to her and motioned to the bench by the entrance door. "Thank you, I will wait here." "I won't be long, miss," he continued encouragingly. "I'll just give these to the booking-clerk to look after, and I'll be back in no time." In a few moments more she had the satisfaction of seeing him start out briskly, and pass through the white station gates. Wearily she gazed out of the window. It was a warm day, in early summer, and the scene before her was not wholly dispiriting. A straight road from the station led up to the village; on the left was a squarely built house with the words "Coffee Tavern" written upon it in large letters; then came a few cottages. The road was sheltered at places by some fine old elms, and on the right hand she saw something that made almost a thrill of hope pass through her, as she drank in the sight and breath of its beauty. Spring had long since awakened the sleeping trees, rich life-giving sap had risen, and the sun coaxed them into opening their eyes to the new season. The orchard upon which Margaret was now gazing showed her a wealth of promise, as the gleam of fruit clusters shining through the green foliage caught her eye. The outlook on the opposite side of the station, which she could just see through another window, was the exact counterpart of that near to where she was sitting, and presented a view prosaic enough, which needed some conjuring of the mind to suggest any ideas of romance. Margaret tried to be interested, but her thoughts were trailing back to the dear old home surroundings when she heard the rumble of a cab. A few minutes later a one-horse vehicle drew up at the door, and her friend the porter jumped down, as she rose with alacrity and went to meet him. "It's all right, miss, he knows Wychcliff, and says he can find 'Oaklands' when he gets there--it's an old farm that has stood empty for some time." In a few minutes more Margaret had started upon her quest.