Then a shrill whistle rings through the air, the train steams lazily into the station, and Guy, casting a hasty glance at the closed blinds of the carriage outside, hastens forward to meet Cyril, who is the only passenger for Truston to-night.
"Has anything happened?" he asks, anxiously, advancing to greet Sir Guy.
"Yes, but nothing to make you uneasy. Do not ask me any questions now: you will hear all when you get home."
"Our mother is well?"
"Quite well. Are you ready? What a beastly objectionable night it is! Have you seen to everything, Buckley? Get in, Cyril. I am going outside to finish my cigar."
When Guy chooses, he is energetic. Cyril is not, and allows himself to be pushed unresistingly in the direction of the carriage.
"Hurry, man: the night is freezing," says Guy, giving him a final touch. "Home, Buckley."
Guy springs up in front. Cyril finds himself in the brougham, and in another instant they are beyond the station railings, rolling along the road leading to Chetwoode.
As Cyril closes the door and turns round, the light of the lamps outside reveals to him the outline of a dark figure seated beside him.
"Is it you, Lilian?" he asks, surprised; and then the dark figure leans forward, throws back a furred hood, and Cecilia's face, pale, but full of a glad triumph, smiles upon him.