They walked silently, side by side, to the end of the platform. There was the same eternal scurrying of eager feet. A train had just arrived at another platform, and the crowd of passengers were streaming through the gate on to the open space. Nothing in the outer world had changed during the past hour. But Ella was filled with a vague wonder that universal chaos did not prevail around her. She followed Sylvester in a state of dream, to be aroused to practical effort by his voice. “This is your cab. Where would you care to be driven to?” She collected her faculties. Pride rose in arms against betrayal of weakness. “I suppose there is no train to Ayresford to-night?” she asked steadily. “Yes. The ten o'clock. A fast train. I am going down by it.” “You would have no objection to my accompanying you?” “That my father needs you is enough for me to entreat you to come.” “Very well. I shall drive to Waterloo and wait there until the train starts.” “And I in the mean time must do some necessary business.” He gave the direction to the driver and the cab drove off. He hailed another and was carried rapidly westward. When the time came for taking her seat at Waterloo in the Ayresford train, she mechanically followed a porter to an empty first-class carriage and sat down in a further corner, broken with trouble. She was only awakened to a sense of surroundings by the door being thrown violently open as soon as the train began to move, and a man whom she recognised as Sylvester leaping into the compartment. He sat for a moment breathless, then moved up the seat. “I did not mean to intrude on you,” he said, when he had recovered; “but I nearly missed the train, and this was the first carriage to hand.” She looked out of the window into the whirling darkness. “It does not matter,” she murmured. “Nothing much matters now.”