The hat which the man had found did not indeed look as though it had passed a night on the roadside. Save for an incidental speck or two it might have come fresh from a bandbox. Tristrem carried it into the cottage, and was placing it on the hall-table when Mrs. Raritan appeared. "I am so sorry," she began, "Viola has told me----" "How is she? May I not see her?" "She scarcely slept last night." Tristrem looked in the lady's face. The lids of her eyes were red and swollen. "But may I not see her? May I not, merely for a moment." "She is sleeping now," Mrs. Raritan answered; "perhaps," she added, "it is better that you should not. The doctor has been here. He says that she should be quiet. But you will come back, will you not? Truly I sympathize with you." Mrs. Raritan's eyes filled with tears, but to what they were due, who shall say? She seemed to Tristrem unaccountably nervous and distressed. "There is nothing serious the matter, is there?" he asked, anxiously. And at the question, Mrs. Raritan almost choked. She shook her head, however, but Tristrem was not assured. "I _must_ see her," he said, and he made as would he mount the stair. "Mr. Varick! she is asleep. She has had a wretched night. When you are able to come back, it will be different. But if you care for her, let her be." The protest was almost incoherent. Mrs. Raritan appeared beside herself with anxiety. "Forgive me," said Tristrem, "I did not mean to vex you. Nor would I disturb her." He paused a second, dumbly and vaguely afflicted. "You will tell her, will you not?" he added; "tell her this, that I wanted to see her. Mrs. Raritan, my whole life is wrapped up in her." He hesitated again. "You are tired too, I can see. You were up with her last night, were you not?" Mrs. Raritan bowed her head. "You must forgive me," he repeated, "I did not understand. Tell me," he continued, "last night I awoke thinking that I heard her calling. Did she call?" "Call what?" "I thought--you see I was half, perhaps wholly asleep, but I thought I heard her voice. I was mistaken, was I not?" "Yes, you must have been." The negro had brought down the luggage, and stood waiting at the gate. "You will tell her--Mrs. Raritan--I love her with all my heart and soul." The lady's lips quivered. "She knows it, and so do I." "You will ask her to write." "Yes, I will do so." Tristrem took her hand in his. "Tell her from me," he began, but words failed him, it was his face that completed the message. In a moment more he was in the coach on his way to the station. There was a brisk drive along the sea, a curve was rounded, and the station stood in sight. And just as the turn was made Tristrem caught the shriek of a whistle. "There she goes," the negro exclaimed, "you ought to have been spryer." "Has the train gone?" Tristrem asked. "Can't you see her? I knew you'd be late." The man was insolent in his familiarity, but Tristrem did not seem to notice it.