'God bless you, Eliza. If I were in any want of money, I'd gladly borrow
your sovereign; but Miss Cobb has lent me more than I want. Good-bye.'

Ida held out her hand, which the housemaid, after wiping her own paw upon
her apron, clasped affectionately.

'God bless you, Miss Palliser,' she said fervently; 'I shall miss the
sight of your handsome face when I waits at table.'

A minute more and Ida stood in the broad carriage sweep, with her back to
the stately old mansion which had sheltered her so long, and in which,
despite her dependency and her poverty, she had known some light-hearted
hours. Now, where was she to go? and what was she to do with her life?
She stood with the autumn wind blowing about her--the fallen chestnut
leaves drifting to her feet--pondering that question.

Was she or was she not Brian Wendover's affianced wife? How far was she
to trust in him, to lean upon him, in this crucial hour of her life?
There had been so much playfulness in their love-making, his tone had
been for the most part so light and sportive, that now, when she stood,
as it were, face to face with destiny, she hardly knew how to think of
him, whether as a rock that she might lean upon, or as a reed that would
give way at her touch. Rock or reed, womanly instinct told her that it
was not to this fervent admirer she must apply for aid or counsel yet
awhile. Her duty was to go home at once--to get across the Channel, if
possible, as quickly as Miss Pew's letter to her father.

Intent on doing this, she walked along the dusty high road by the river,
in the direction of the railway station. This station was more than two