He looked round for Mr. Verrall. He could not see him. In at one room, in at another, looked he; out upon the terrace, before the dining-room window, amidst the smokers. But there was no Mr. Verrall: and Lord Averil, impatient to be gone, finally departed without wishing his host good night. Mr. Verrall had strolled out into the moonlight, and was in low, earnest conversation with George Godolphin. They had got as far as that stream on which you saw George rowing the day of Mrs. Verrall's fête, when he so nearly caught his death. Standing on the arched wooden bridge, which crossed it to the mock island, they leaned forward, their arms on the rails. Mr. Verrall was smoking; George Godolphin appeared to be too ill at ease to smoke. His brow was knit; his face hot with care. As fast as he wiped the drops from his brow they gathered there again. "Don't worry, lad," said Mr. Verrall. "It always has come right, and it will come right now. Never fear. You will receive news from London to-morrow; there's little doubt of it." "But it ought to have come to-day, Verrall." "It will come to-morrow, safe enough. And--you know that you may always count upon me." "I know I may. But look at the awful cost, Verrall." "Pooh, pooh! What has put you in this mood to-night?" "I don't know," said George, wiping the damp from his brow. "Not hearing from town, I think. Verrall!" "What?" "Suppose, when I do hear, it should not be favourable? I feel in a fever when I think of it." "You took too much of that heating port this evening," said Mr. Verrall. "I dare say I did," returned George. "A man at ease may let the wine pass him: but one worried to death is glad of it to drown care." "Worried to death!" repeated Mr. Verrall in a reproving tone. "Next door to it. Look there! They have tracked us and are coming in search." Two or three dark forms were discerned in the distance, nearer the Folly. Mr. Verrall passed his arm within George Godolphin's and led him towards the house. "I think I'll go home," said George. "I am not company for a dog to-night." "Nonsense," said Mr. Verrall. "The tables are ready. I want to give you your revenge." For once in his life--and it was a notable exception--George Godolphin actually resisted the temptation of the "tables;" the chance of "revenge." He had a heavy trouble upon him; a great fear; perhaps more than Mr. Verrall knew of. Ay, he had! But who would have suspected it of gay, careless George, who had been so brilliant at the dinner-table? He forswore for that one night the attractions of the Folly, including syren Charlotte, and went straight home. It was not much past ten when he reached the Bank. Maria was astonished: the Verrall dinner-parties were generally late affairs. She was sitting alone, reading. In her glad surprise she ran to him with an exclamation of welcome.