than by her promise to Stephen, more even than by her love, she
was forced on by a sense of the necessity of keeping faith with
herself, as promised in the inane vow of ten minutes ago.

She hesitated no longer. Pansy went, like the steed of Adonis, as
if she told the steps. Presently the quaint gables and jumbled
roofs of St. Launce's were spread beneath her, and going down the
hill she entered the courtyard of the Falcon. Mrs. Buckle, the
landlady, came to the door to meet her.

The Swancourts were well known here. The transition from
equestrian to the ordinary guise of railway travellers had been
more than once performed by father and daughter in this
establishment.

In less than a quarter of an hour Elfride emerged from the door in
her walking dress, and went to the railway. She had not told Mrs.
Buckle anything as to her intentions, and was supposed to have
gone out shopping.

An hour and forty minutes later, and she was in Stephen's arms at
the Plymouth station. Not upon the platform--in the secret
retreat of a deserted waiting-room.

Stephen's face boded ill. He was pale and despondent.

What is the matter?' she asked.

'We cannot be married here to-day, my Elfie! I ought to have known
it and stayed here. In my ignorance I did not. I have the