Hugo thought of that tone and of the conversation many times before he left London next evening. He was rather an adept at the discovery of small mysteries; he liked to draw conclusions from a series of small events, and to ferret out other people's secrets. He thought that he was now upon the track of some design of Vivian's, and he became exceedingly curious about it. If it had been possible to open the box without disturbing the seals upon it, he would certainly have done so; but, this being out of the question, he contented himself with resolving to be present when it was opened, and to observe with care the effect produced by Vivian's message on the faces of Mrs. Heron, Miss Heron, and Miss Murray. He reached Dunmuir (where the nearest station to his aunt's house was situated) at eleven o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Luttrell had sent the mail-phaeton for him. As Hugo took the reins and glanced at the shining harness and the lustrous coats of the beautiful bays, he could not help remembering the day when the mail-phaeton had last been sent to bring him from the station. Richard had then sat in the place that he now occupied, with Angela beside him; and Brian and Hugo laughed and talked in the back seat, and were as merry as they well could be. Nearly two years ago! What changes had been seen since then. The bays were fidgetty and would not start at once. Hugo was just shouting a hasty direction to the groom at their heads when he happened to glance aside towards the station door where two or three persons were standing. The groom had cause to wonder what was the matter. Hugo gave the reins a tremendous jerk, which brought the horses nearly upon their haunches, and then let them go at such a pace that it seemed as if he had entirely lost control over them. But he was a very good whip, and soon mastered the fiery creatures, reducing their mad speed by degrees to a gentle trot, which enabled the groom to overtake them, panting and red in the face, indeed, as he swung himself up behind. The groom was inclined to think that Mr. Hugo had lost his nerve for a few moments; for "his face turned as white," honest John remarked afterwards, "as if he had seen a ghost." "John," said Hugo, after driving for a good two miles in silence, "who was that gentleman at the station door?" "Gentleman, sir?" "A young man--at least, he seemed young--in a great-coat." "Oh!--I don't think that's a young gentleman, exactly; least-ways he's got grey hair. That's the gentleman that teaches at Mr. Heron's, sir; Mr. Heron, the uncle to Miss Murray that has the property now. His name's Mr. Stretton, sir. I asked Mr. Heron's coachman." "What made you ask?"