consolatory whisper from one of her companions--'Poor little
Kathleen Mavourneen, by what misfortune did you get in here?
There--be still and go to sleep.' And as no more was heard, on
either side, it seemed probable the advice had been followed.
At any rate no more was seen of the kitten, not even when the
stage coach swept round the level on which the house stands,
and drew up at the door, where the light of lamps gave
opportunity for observation. Wych Hazel only saw that her
neighbour flung a shawl demurely enough over one shoulder and
arm, where the cat might have been, and letting himself out,
proceeded to do the same office with full dexterity though
with one hand for the little cat's mistress.

Ensconcing herself even closer than ever in mantle and veil,
Wych Hazel passed on through the gay groups to the foot of the
stairs, there paused.

'Mr. Falkirk,' she said softly, 'I want my tea up stairs,
please,'--and passed on after the maid.

'So,' said one of the loiterers in the hall approaching Mr.
Falkirk, 'so my dear sir, you've brought Miss Kennedy! At
last!--Now for candidates. If the face match the hand and foot,
the supply will be heavy.'


CHAPTER V.

IN THE FOG.