"I'm only Anne Courtenay, the governess."

"You'll be Lady Windomshire some day, my word for it--if the other
chaps manage to die, God bless 'em. I say, here's the train. Good-
night, dear, up you go! I'll go up ahead. Don't forget! The wedding's
at noon to-morrow."

The long, shadowy train came to a stop. He elbowed the porter aside
and helped her up the steps. Neither of them noticed the vague figure
which rushed across the platform and into the second car below.

"Where's the luggage car?" shouted Windomshire to the porter.

"The what?"

"I mean the baggage van."

"Way up front, sir. Where they're puttin' on the trunks, sir."

Swinging his travelling bag almost at arm's length, the long
Englishman raced forward. His own and Miss Courtenay's pieces had come
over during the afternoon, skilfully smuggled out of the Thursdale
house. Just as he reached the baggage truck a panting, mud-covered
individual dashed up from the opposite direction, madly rushing for
the train. They tried to avoid a collision, but failed. A second later
the two men were staring into each other's eyes, open-mouthed and
dismayed.

"Hello!" gasped Dauntless, staggered.