Roderick stood by the wall, gazing anxiously at each cab as it stopped and deposited its fare. He had taken the two tickets, registered his luggage through to Amsterdam, and now was waiting in feverish suspense for Ella. Would she come? He looked at his watch. It was only five minutes past eight, and he had been watching for her since the quarter to the hour. He threw away a cigarette barely commenced, and a moment afterwards lit another. By the light of the match his fingers could have been seen to shake nervously. At last a cab stopped, a porter opened the door, and Roderick's heart gave a leap of relief and joy as he saw the familiar girlish figure emerge. He sprang to her side. “Oh, thank God you have come, dear, thank God!” he whispered. “I keep my word,” said Ella, remotely. Roderick gave some directions to the porters, and turned to her. “I will show you straight into our carriage. I have reserved one for ourselves.” He led the way through the booking offices to the great glass-covered station, with its blue glare of electric light and babel of sounds. “My heroic Ella,” he murmured. She raised her eyes somewhat appealingly. Then he saw she had been crying; her lashes were still wet. “Those tears are the last you shall ever shed,” he whispered, bending down to her ear. In reply she held out the crumpled ball of paper which she had kept in her hand. He stood by the platform gate and read, and looking at the telegram, reflected. The instinct of the self-indulgent man prompted a reply. A dry-eyed woman, be she never so beloved, was a pleasanter travelling companion than a tearful one. He handed her back the telegram with a smile. “It's the dear elderly lady's exaggeration. Mr. Lanyon is kept to his room by a slight cold. That is all. I saw Sylvester this afternoon, and he had only left Ayresford this morning. Make yourself quite easy, dearest.” She followed him through the gate, along the platform where the Harwich train stood waiting. “You take a great weight off my mind,” she said earnestly. “I have felt it was wicked and selfish of me to leave him.” “My poor child,” said Roderick, tenderly. The guard hurried up and unlocked the door of the reserved carriage. The porter, who had followed them, stowed Ella's hand-baggage and wraps in the rack. Ella entered and took her seat, while Roderick hastened away to see to the registration of her heavy luggage. Tears of a great relief filled her eyes. However much she hated Sylvester, she knew that he would not have spoken lightly to any one of his father's illness; nor would he have left his father's bedside if anything serious were the matter with the old man. Roderick's confident report reassured her. She felt almost happy. If only her head were not aching, and a strange heaviness were lifted off her heart!