"What shall I do," she thought, with a terrified face, "if I fall ill, and cannot save him? Suppose--my brain is on fire now--suppose it becomes worse, and when the train stops I have no sense left to speak? They will try him--they will sentence him to death before I arrive. He will perhaps be dead when I am able to speak. What shall I do?" And the dread so overpowered her that she cried aloud in her anguish. "Are you ill?" asked a fellow-traveller, kindly. "No, I was dreaming," she replied, hurriedly. She pressed her hand on her hot brow--she tried to still the quick nervous beating of her heart; but all was in vain. The night was hot; the atmosphere seemed overcharged with electricity; there was not a breath of air stirring; the noisy clang of the wheels seemed to pierce her brain; a sound as of rushing torrents filled her ears. She tried to calm herself--to steady those quivering nerves--to remember what she would have to say in a short time, when she would be standing before a tribunal of justice to save Claude's life. She tried and failed in the effort; she broke down and laughed a strange, unnatural laugh. The noise of the train drowned it, the monotonous clangor of the wheels dulled all other sounds. The next minute the overstrained nerves--the over-taxed brain--had given away, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. * * * * * The train drew near to Ostend, and those who loved her had not discovered Hyacinth's flight. Lady Vaughan wondered she did not come down as usual to breakfast. Pincott went to see if she was up. She tapped at the door; there was no answer, and the maid went to tell her lady. "I am almost glad," said Lady Vaughan; "she looked very ill last night. She is sleeping; do not awaken her, Pincott." But when noon came, and Hyacinth had not rung, Pincott went to her room again. She opened the door this time and walked in. The room was empty, the bed had not been slept in, and there was no trace of Miss Vaughan. The woman turned quite white and sunk, half-fainting, on a chair. She was frightened. Presently, recovering herself a little, she looked round. "How foolish I am!" she thought. "Miss Vaughan must have gone down unknown to me and her room has been arranged." Still she trembled with a strange presentiment of dread. Suddenly her eyes fell upon the note addressed to Mr. Darcy--it was sealed. "There can be no harm in my giving him this," she said. She went down-stairs and made inquiries about Miss Vaughan. No one had seen her--she could hear nothing of her. Then Pincott went to her lady. It so happened that Mr. Darcy was chatting with her. "What do you say?" interrupted Lady Vaughan, sharply. "You cannot find Miss Vaughan? Pray use your common sense, Pincott; do not say such absurd things." But Adrian had caught sight of the note in the maid's hand. "What is this?" he asked. "I found it in Miss Vaughan's room, sir," said Pincott; "it is addressed to you."