It was easily explained, Walter said. He knew of his cousin's being in Oxford, and he had journeyed thither from London, where he had already taken his passage, and whence he was to sail on the following week. It was by the merest accident that on this, the very day of his arrival, he had, while wandering through the streets, caught a glimpse of his cousin, her husband, and their friend when on their way to the meadow. Concealing himself from them as he best could, he had followed them, and kept near to them in the increasing dusk of evening, waiting only a favourable opportunity of making himself known.
"Which you have no right to do," said Tom, quietly. "Look here, Walter; you, with your bad temper and your ridiculous jealousy, and all that sort of thing, have done mischief enough already, and you are not going to do more, if I can help it. You have seen your cousin—that's enough for you; and if it is any pleasure for you to know it, she has a good husband, who knows, at any rate, how to behave kindly to her. Now I don't leave you till I see you safe off again to London. So come."
It may be that Tom Grigson used other arguments; but whether he did or not, I am sure of one thing—that a night coach conveyed Walter Wilson back again whence he came before three hours were over, and Oxford saw him no more.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
JOHN TINCROFT STILL UNDER A CLOUD.
A LONG half-year after the events recorded in the foregoing chapter, John Tincroft received a visit from his lawyer.
"I am going to London to-morrow," he said.
"I hope you will have a pleasant journey," John responded.
"Well, yes, I hope so too. I think I shall," said Mr. Roundhand.