"I am going to take you with me to Southampton. Suzanne. I mean to catch the train which leaves here at ten minutes to six. We have plenty of time, but not too much. Can you make some coffee for us both? And then either you or Masters must find a cab."
Suzanne opened her bright eyes wide.
"I will go with you, my goot madam," she said to herself. "The early hour is noting, the strangeness is noting. That olt man—I hate that olt man! I will go alone with you, mine goot mistress, to find the goot husband what is so devoted. Ach! Suzanne does not like that olt man!"
Coffee was served in Valentine's bedroom. Mistress and maid partook of it together. Masters was aroused, was fortunate enough in procuring a cab, and at five o'clock, for Valentine's impatience could brook no longer delay, she and Suzanne had started together for Waterloo.
Once more her spirits were high. She had dared something for Gerald. It was already sweet to her to be brave for his sake.
Before she left she wrote a short letter to her father—a constrained little note—for her fears stood between her and him.
She and Suzanne arrived at Waterloo long before the train started.
"Oh, how impatient I am!" whispered Mrs. Wyndham to her maid. "Will time never pass? I am sure all the clocks in London must be wrong, this last night has been like three."
The longest hours, however, do come to an end, and presently Valentine and Suzanne found themselves being whirled out of London, and into the early morning of a bright clear March day.