There were two inns in the High Street of Frimley. The days of mail~coaches were not yet over, and the glory of country inns had not entirely departed. Several coaches passed through Frimley in the course of the day, and many passengers stopped to eat and drink and refresh themselves at the quaint old hostelries; but it was not often that the old-fashioned bed-chambers were occupied, even for one night, by any one but a commercial traveller; and it was a still rarer occurrence for a visitor to linger for any time at Frimley.

There was nothing to see in the place; and any one travelling for pleasure would have chosen rather to stay in the more picturesque village of Hallgrove.

It was therefore a matter of considerable surprise to the landlady of the “Rose and Crown,” when a lady and her maid alighted from the “Highflyer” coach and demanded apartments, which they would be likely to occupy for a week or more.

The lady was so plainly attired, in a dress and cloak of dark woollen stuff, and the simplest of black velvet bonnets, that it was only by her distinguished manner, and especially graceful bearing, that Mrs. Tippets, the landlady, was able to perceive any difference between the mistress and the maid.

“I am travelling in Dorsetshire for my health,” said the lady, who was no other than Honoria Eversleigh, “and the quiet of this place suits me. You will be good enough to prepare rooms for myself and my maid.”

“You would like your maid’s bed-room to be adjoining your own, no doubt, madam?” hazarded the landlady.

“No,” answered Honoria; “I do not wish that; I prefer entire privacy in my own apartment.”

“As you please, madam — we have plenty of bedrooms.”

The landlady of the “Rose and Crown” ushered her visitors into the best sitting-room the house afforded — an old-fashioned apartment, with a wide fire-place, high wooden mantel-piece, and heavily-timbered ceiling — a room which seemed to belong to the past rather than the present.

Lady Eversleigh sat by the table in a thoughtful attitude, while the fire was being lighted and a tray of tea-things arranged for that refreshment which is most welcome of all others to an Englishwoman. Jane Payland stood by the opposite angle of the mantel-piece, watching her mistress with a countenance almost as thoughtful as that of Honoria herself.

It was in the wintry dusk that these two travellers arrived at Frimley. Jane Payland walked to one of the narrow, old-fashioned windows, and looked out into the street, where lights were burning dimly here and there.

“What a strange old place, ma’am,” she said.

Honoria had forbidden her to say “my lady” since their departure from Raynham.

“Yes,” her mistress answered, absently; “it is a world-forgotten old place.”

“But the rest and change will, no doubt, be beneficial, ma’am,” said Miss Payland, in her most insinuating tone; “and I am sure you must require change and fresh country air after being pent up in a London street.”

Lady Eversleigh shook off her abstraction of manner, and turned towards her servant, with a calm, serious gaze.

“I want change of scene, and the fresh breath of country air, Jane,” she said, gravely; “but it is not for those I came to Frimley, and you know that it is not. Why should we try to deceive each other? The purpose of my life is a very grave one; the secret of my coming and going is a very bitter secret, and if I do not choose to share it with you, I withhold nothing that you need care to know. Let me play my part unwatched and unquestioned. You will find yourself well rewarded by and by for your forbearance and devotion. Be faithful to me, my good girl; but do not try to discover the motive of my actions, and believe, even when they seem most strange to you, that they are justified by one great purpose.”

Jane Payland’s eyelids drooped before the serious and penetrating gaze of her mistress.

“You may feel sure of my being faithful, ma’am,” she answered, promptly; “and as to curiosity, I should be the very last creature upon this earth to try to pry into your secrets.”

Honoria made no reply to this protestation. She took her tea in silence, and seemed as if weighed down by grave and anxious thoughts. After tea she dismissed Jane, who retired to the bed-room allotted to her, which had been made very comfortable, and enlivened by a wood fire, that blazed cheerily in the wide grate.

Jane Payland’s bedroom opened out of a corridor, at the end of which was the door of the sitting-room occupied by Honoria. Jane was, therefore, able to keep watch upon all who went to and fro from the sitting-room to the other part of the house. She sat with her door a little way open for this purpose.

“My lady expects some one to-night, I know,” she thought to herself, as she seated herself at a little table, and began some piece of fancy~work.

She had observed that during tea Lady Eversleigh had twice looked at her watch. Why should she be so anxious about the time, if she were not awaiting some visitor, or message, or letter?

For a long time Jane Payland waited, and watched, and listened, without avail. No one went along the corridor to the blue parlour, except the chambermaid who removed the tea-things.

Jane looked at her own watch, and found that it was past nine o’clock. “Surely my lady can have no visitor to-night?” she thought.

A quarter of an hour after this, she was startled by the creaking sound of a footstep on the uncarpeted floor of the corridor. She rose hastily and softly from her chair, crept to the door, and peeped put into the passage. As she did so, she saw a man approaching, dressed like a countryman, in a clumsy frieze coat, and with his chin so muffled in a woollen scarf, and his felt hat drawn so low over his eyes, that there was nothing visible of him but the end of a long nose.

That long, beak-like nose seemed strangely familiar to Miss Payland; and yet she could not tell where she had seen it before.

The countryman went straight to the blue parlour, opened the door, and went in. The door closed behind him, and then Jane Payland heard the faint sound of voices within the apartment.

It was evident that this countryman was Lady Eversleigh’s expected guest.

Jane’s wonderment was redoubled by this extraordinary proceeding.

“What does it all mean?” she asked herself. “Is this man some humble relation of my lady’s? Everyone knows that her birth was obscure; but no one can tell where she came from. Perhaps this is her native place, and it is to see her own people she comes here.”

Jane was obliged to be satisfied with this explanation, for no other was within her reach; but it did not altogether allay her curiosity. The interview between Lady Eversleigh and her visitor was a long one. It was half-past ten o’clock before the strange-looking countryman quitted the blue parlour.

This occurred three days before Christmas-day. On the following evening another stranger arrived at Frimley by the mail-coach, which passed through the quiet town at about seven o’clock.

This traveller did not patronise the “Rose and Crown” inn, though the coach changed horses at that hostelry. He alighted from the outside of the coach while it stood before the door of the “Rose and Crown,” waited until his small valise had been fished out of the boot, and then departed through the falling snow, carrying this valise, which was his only luggage.

He walked at a rapid pace to the other end of the long, straggling street, where there was a humbler inn, called the “Cross Keys.” Here he entered, and asked for a bed-room, with a good fire, and something or other in the way of supper.

It was not till he had entered the room that the traveller took off the rough outer coat, the collar of which had almost entirely concealed his face. When he did so, he revealed the sallow countenance of Victor Carrington, and the flashing black eyes, which to-night shone with a peculiar brightness.

After he had eaten a hasty meal, he went out into the inn-yard, despite the fast-falling snow, to smoke a cigar, he said, to one of the servants whom he encountered on his way.

He had not been long in the yard, when a man emerged from one of the adjacent buildings, and approached him in a slow and stealthy manner.

“All right, guv’nor,” said the man, in a low voice; “I’ve been on the look-out for you for the last two days.”

The man was Jim Hawkins, Mr. Spavin’s groom.

“Is ‘Wild Buffalo’ here?” asked Victor.

“Yes, sir; as safe and as comfortable as if he’d been foaled here.”

“And none the worse for his journey?”

“Not a bit of it, sir. I brought him down by easy stages, knowing you wanted him kept fresh. And fresh he is — oncommon. P’raps you’d like to have a look at him.”

“I should.”

The groom led Mr. Carrington to a loose box, and the surgeon had the pleasure of beholding the bay horse by the uncertain............