letter to him, and forgetting the pale gold hair and its owner. "Do you
know anything about the Worcestershire trains?"

"No," he answered. "The better plan will be to get to the station as
soon as possible, and then you will be ready for the first train that
starts."

"Will you go down with me, Philip?"

"I cannot. I will take you to the station."

"Why can't you?"

"Because I cannot just now leave London. My dear, you may believe me,
for it is the truth. I _cannot do so_. I wish I could."

And she saw it was true: for his tone was so earnest as to tell of pain.

Making what haste she could, kissing her boy a hundred times, and
recommending him to the special care of his nurse and of his father
during her absence, she drove with her husband to the station, and was
just in time for a train. Mr. Hamlyn watched it steam out of the
station, and then looked up at the clock.

"I suppose it's not too early to see him," he muttered. "I'll chance it,
at any rate. Hope he will be less suffering than he was yesterday, and
less crusty, too."

Dismissing his carriage, for he felt more inclined to walk than to
drive, he went through the park to Pimlico, and gained the house of