The train came to a stand-still, and they got out. Foxwood station, after the manner of some other small rural stations, had its few buildings on one side only: the other was open to the high road, and to the fields beyond. In this road, drawn up close to the station, was a waiting fly, its door already open. The stranger, carrying some of her parcels, went straight up to it, supposing it was there for hire, and was about to get in. "Beg pardon, ma'am," said the driver, "this here fly's engaged." She, seemed vexed, disappointed: and looked up at him. "Are you sure?" she asked. Lucy was standing close by and heard. "It's brought here, ma'am, for the Lady Andinnian." "For whom?" she cried, her voice turning to sharpness with its haste; her face, through her veil, changing to a ghastly white. The driver stared at her: he thought it was all temper. Lucy looked, too, unable to understand, and slightly coloured. "For whom did you say the fly was brought?" the lady repeated. "For Lady Andinnian of Foxwood Court," explained the man in full. "I shouldn't go to tell a untruth about it." "Oh I--I misunderstood," she said, her voice dropping, her look becoming suddenly timid as a hare's: and in turning away with a sudden movement, she found herself face to face with Lucy. At that same moment, a tall footman with a powdered head--who had strayed away in search of amusement, and strayed a little too far--came bustling up to his mistress. "This is your fly, my lady." By which the stranger knew that the elegant girl she had travelled with and whose sweet face was then close to her own, was the young Lady Andinnian. Her own white face flushed again. "I--I beg your pardon," she said. "I did not know you were Sir Karl Andinnian's wife. The fly, I thought, was only there for hire." Before Lucy could make any answer, she had disappeared from the spot, and was giving some of her parcels to a porter. Lucy followed. "Can I offer to set you down anywhere? The fly is certainly waiting for me, but--there is plenty of room." "Oh thank you, no. You are very kind: but--_no!_ I can walk quite well. I am obliged to you all the same." The refusal was spoken very emphatically; especially the last No. Without turning again, she rapidly walked from the station, the porter carrying her parcels. "I wonder who she is?" murmured Lucy aloud, looking back as she was about to enter the fly, her powdered servant standing to bow her in. For she saw that there was no luggage, save those small parcels, and was feeling somewhat puzzled. "It is Mrs. Grey, my lady; she who lives at the Maze." Had the footman, Giles, said it was an inhabitant of the world of spirits, Lucy would not have felt more painfully and disagreeably startled. _She!_ And she, Lucy, had sat with her in the same carriage and talked to her on pleasant terms of equality! She, Mrs. Grey! Well, Theresa was right: the face would do for an angel's.