It was very strange! Evidently Sevelli did not want his whereabouts to be known. He might not really be going to Halford now; but what were they to do? They had lost all clue to Mary Burrows, and it seemed apparent to both of them that Sevelli was somehow mixed up in the affair. Could it be only a coincidence, that he had risen so early and gone out that same morning?

They went to the inn from which Sevelli had ordered the horse, and learnt that it was to be fetched from the railway inn at Halford.

This seemed positive; they had lost some time, and the day was advancing. So, after some consultation, it was deemed advisable to ride on to Halford, the next railway station, some twelve miles distant.

Before they arrived there, the rain fell in torrents, and drove them to seek shelter in a little way-side inn. Weary and hungry, they dismounted, and ordered the best en

VOL. II.

C

tertainment the house could afford. There was no private room to be had, so they contented themselves with the common, sanded apartment, ornamented with pipes and spittoons. Two rough men rose to leave at their entrance, but Mr. Mayne begged they would not move, so they resumed their seats in sheepish silence. While dinner was preparing, St. Clare made inquiries of the landlord and the household as to whether they had seen or heard anything of a woman answering to the description of Mary Burrows? It seemed to him a last vain inquiry, as he began to fear they had come upon a useless quest.

The landlord asked the landlady, and the landlady asked the ostler, who had, for lack of anything better to do, been sitting on the horse-trough all the morning, biting straws, and must have seen every one who passed. No one had seen such a person.

St. Clare went back to his companion and detailed his ill-success, when, as he

mentioned the baby and bundle, one of the men in smock-frocks started forward, exclaiming: "I've seed her!"

St. Clare and Mr. Mayne turned breathlessly on him. "Where?"

"I've seed her!" he repeated, emphatically, striking the table with a thump. "I could have sworn she was a runaway, 'cos of her sneaky look."

"But where, my good man ?" demanded the vicar.

66

'Why, over at Henley; she slept there, at the Running Hound,' last night. I comes into the bar, and, says I, 'Who have you here?' and Mrs. Goodman, as keeps the 'ouse, says she

"Where can she have gone since then ?" cried St. Clare, appealingly, to his companion. "Did you hear-do you know?" he asked the man, who, somewhat annoyed at being interrupted in his recital, muttered a "Can't say, I'm sure," and relapsed into

sulky silence.

How far was it to Henley, became the next question, and could the horses go much farther?

Having ascertained that it was a matter of five or six miles, after inviting the man's confidence by the offer to stand hot brandyand-water, and after his swearing to the accuracy of his statement, it appeared imperative that some one must go at once to Henley.

Mr. Mayne looked very rueful at the notion; he had not ridden for years, and was very stiff.

"Let me have a few mouthfuls of something to eat," cried St. Clare, "and I will go. I don't mind the rain, and that little pony is good for some twenty miles more. She must come this way to Halford, and in that case I should meet her. When you

are rested, go to Halford, and wait there at the railway station-where you can stop either of them, if they go up by train-until I come.

Also, I would send one of these

men, with a description of Burrows, to the

police-station."

"You

"Not yet," objected Mr. Mayne. see," he whispered, "it would be disagreeable for me if this affair got into the hands of the police. I have acted injudiciously, perhaps, in not apprehending him at once; but I pitied the poor fellow in his mad jealousy."

An hour after, St. Clare was taking his way through the rain to Henley, and Robert Mayne, stretching his weary limbs on three chairs, fell fast asleep.

He had intended to watch very carefully, but his resolution was not so powerful as his fatigue.

He awoke once, and was aware of some figure crouching in the corner of the room; but he was very drowsy, and not at all nervous, so he shut his eyes, and the heavy splash of the rain, and the weary creaking of the sign outside, soon lulled him off to sleep again.