But on Friday evening late came a breathless Man Friend, Widgery,
a correspondent of hers, who had heard of her trouble among the
first. He had been touring in Sussex,--his knapsack was still on
his back,--and he testified hurriedly that at a place called
Midhurst, in the bar of an hotel called the Angel, he had heard
from a barmaid a vivid account of a Young Lady in Grey.
Descriptions tallied. But who was the man in brown?"The poor,
misguided girl! I must go to her at once," she said, choking, and
rising with her hand to her heart.

"It's impossible to-night. There are no more trains. I looked on
my way."

"A mother's love," she said. "I bear her THAT."

"I know you do." He spoke with feeling, for no one admired his
photographs of scenery more than Mrs. Milton. "it's more than she
deserves."

"Oh, don't speak unkindly of her! She has been misled."

It was really very friendly of him. He declared he was only sorry
his news ended there. Should he follow them, and bring her back?
He had come to her because he knew of her anxiety. "It is GOOD of
you," she said, and quite instinctively took and pressed his
hand. "And to think of that poor girl--tonight! It's dreadful."
She looked into the fire that she had lit when he came in, the
warm light fell upon her dark purple dress, and left her features
in a warm shadow. She looked such a slight, frail thing to be
troubled so. "We must follow her." Her resolution seemed