"Henry Dunbar," whispered Margaret to herself--"Henry Dunbar. I will not
forget that name."




CHAPTER III.

THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION.


When the hands of the little clock in Margaret's sitting-room pointed to
five minutes before three, James Wentworth rose from his lounging
attitude in the easy-chair, and took his hat from a side-table.

"Are you going out, father?" the girl asked.

"Yes, Madge; I'm going up to London. It don't do for me to sit still too
long. Bad thoughts come fast enough at any time; but they come fastest
when a fellow sits twirling his thumbs. Don't look so frightened, Madge;
I'm not going to do any harm. I'm only going to look about me. I may
fall in with a bit of luck, perhaps; no matter what, if it puts a few
shillings into my pocket."

"I'd rather you stayed at home, father dear," Margaret said, gently.

"I dare say you would, child. But I tell you, I can't. I _can't_ sit
quiet this afternoon. I've been talking of things that always seem to
set my brain on fire. No harm shall come of my going away, girl; I
promise you that. The worst I shall do is to sit in a tavern parlour,