"Of course she has gone to the railway-station," he said to himself, smiling. "It's so long since I was young that I see everything through sixty-year-old spectacles. Ah, young hearts, young hearts!"
His own uneasiness had caused him for the time to lose sight of Lizzie's strange absence and of Martha Day's agitation; but as Felix and he walked to the railway-station, they recurred to him, and he narrated to Felix the history of the events that had occurred within the last hour.
"Lizzie gone, and Alfred not come home!" Felix exclaimed in amazement. "And Martha had no knowledge of Lizzie's movements?"
"None; she was terribly distressed at Lizzie's disappearance."
"Tell me. Have you seen Mr. Sheldrake to-day?"
"No."
"He would scarcely be in London," mused Felix. "He would be certain to go to Epsom and see the City and Suburban run." Then to the old man, "And Alfred went to the office this morning at his usual hour, you say?"
"Surely; and was brighter than I have seen him for many a day."
Notwithstanding these apparently satisfactory answers concerning Alfred, Felix found food for grave reflection in the information but the occurrence of other events prevented him from dwelling too deeply upon what he had been told. As they approached the railway-station they saw a number of persons hurrying thither, and some coming from it, with looks of haste and alarm. Felix was about to inquire the cause of this--for there was something unusual in the commotion, and it was evident that an incident out of the common had occurred--when the very man of whom he was about to inquire seized his arm and asked if he was a doctor.
"No," replied Felix; "why do you ask?"