The railway station at Basham seemed to be never free from bustle. Besides pertaining to Basham proper, it was the junction for other places. Various lines crossed each other; empty carriages and trolleys of coal stood near; porters and others were always running about.

Four o\'clock on the Tuesday afternoon, and the train momentarily expected in from London. A few people had collected on the platform: waiting for friends who were coming by it, or else intending to go on by it themselves. Amidst them was a young and lovely lady, who attracted some attention. Strangers wondered who she was: one or two knew her for the lady of Foxwood Court, wife of Sir Karl Andinnian.

There had been a flower-show at Basham that day: and Lady Andinnian, as may be remembered, had promised to attend it with the family of General Lloyd, taking luncheon with them first. But when the morning came, she heartily wished she had not made the engagement. Sir Karl had not returned to accompany her. Miss Blake declared that she could not spare the time for it: for it happened to be a Saint\'s Day, and services prevailed at St. Jerome\'s. Another check arose: news was brought in from the coachman that one of the horses had been slightly hurt in shoeing, and the carriage could not be used that day.

Upon that, Lady Andinnian said she must go by train: for it would never have occurred to her to break her promise.

"I think, Theresa, you might manage to go with me," she said.

Miss Blake, calculating her hours, found she had two or three to spare in the middle of the day, and agreed to do so: provided she might be allowed to leave Mrs. Lloyd\'s when luncheon was over and not be expected to go to the town-hall. "You will only be alone in returning, for just the few minutes that you are in the train, Lucy," she said. "The Lloyds will see you into it, and your servants can have a fly waiting for you at Foxwood Station." This programme had been carried out: and here was Lucy waiting for the four o\'clock train at Basham, surrounded by General Lloyd and part of his family.

It came steaming slowly in. Adieux were interchanged, and Lucy was put into what is called the ladies\' carriage. Only one lady was in it besides herself; some one travelling from London. They looked at each other with some curiosity, sitting face to face. It was but natural; both were young, both were beautiful.

"What lovely hair! and what charming blue eyes! and what a bright delicate complexion!" thought Lucy. "I wonder who she is."

"I have never in all my life seen so sweet a face!" thought the other traveller. "Her eyes are beautiful: and there\'s, such a loving sadness in them! And what a handsome dress!--what style altogether!"

Lucy\'s dress was a rich silk, pearl grey in colour; her bonnet white; her small parasol was grey, covered with lace, its handle of carved ivory. She looked not unlike a bride. The other lady wore black silk, a straw bonnet, and black lace veil thickly studded with spots; which veil she had put back as if for air, just after quitting Basham; and she had with her several small parcels. Why or wherefore neither of them knew, but each felt instinctively attracted by the appearance of the other.

They were nearing Foxwood Station--it was but about eight minutes\' distance from Basham--when Lucy, in changing her position, happened to throw down a reticule bag which had lain beside her. Both of them stooped to pick it up.

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I ought to have moved it when you got in," said the stranger, placing it on her own side amidst her parcels. And Lucy, on her part, apologised for having thrown it down.

It served to break the ice of reserve: and for the next remaining minute or two they talked together. By the stranger beginning to gather together her parcels, Lucy saw she was preparing to get out at Foxwood.

"Are you about to make a stay in this neighbourhood?" she asked.

"For the present."

"It is a very charming spot. We hear the nightingales every evening."

"You are staying in it too, then?"

"Yes. It is my home."

The train came to a stand-still, and they got out. Foxwood station, after the manner of some other small rural stations, had its few buildings on one side only: the other was open to the high road, and to the fields beyond. In this road, drawn up close to the station, was a waiting fly, its door already open. The stranger, carrying some of her parcels, went straight up to it, supposing it was there for hire, and was about to get in.

"Beg pardon, ma\'am," said the driver, "this here fly\'s engaged."

She, seemed vexed, disappointed: and looked up at him. "Are you sure?" she asked. Lucy was standing close by and heard.

"It\'s brought here, ma\'am, for the Lady Andinnian."

"For whom?" she cried, her voice turning to sharpness with its haste; her face, through her veil, changing to a ghastly white.

The driver stared at her: he thought it was all temper. Lucy looked, too, unable to understand, and slightly coloured.

"For whom did you say the fly was brought?" the lady repeated.

"For Lady Andinnian of Foxwood Court," explained the man in full. "I shouldn\'t go to tell a untruth about it."

"Oh I--I misunderstood," she said, her voice dropping, her look becoming suddenly timid as a hare\'s: and in turning away with a sudden movement, she found herself face to face with Lucy. At that same moment, a tall footman with a powdered head--who had strayed away in search of amusement, and strayed a little too far--came bustling up to his mistress.

"This is your fly, my lady."

By which the stranger knew that the elegant girl she had travelled with and whose sweet face was then close to her own, was the young Lady Andinnian. Her own white face flushed again.

"I--I beg your pardon," she said. "I did not know you were Sir Karl Andinnian\'s wife. The fly, I thought, was only there for hire."

Before Lucy could make any answer, she had disappeared from the spot, and was giving some of her parcels to a porter. Lucy followed.

"Can I offer to set you down anywhere? The fly is certainly waiting for me, but--there is plenty of room."

"Oh thank you, no. You are very kind: but--no! I can walk quite well. I am obliged to you all the same."

The refusal was spoken very emphatically; especially the last No. Without turning again, she rapidly walked from the station, the porter carrying her parcels.

"I wonder who she is?" murmured Lucy aloud, looking back as she was about to enter the fly, her powdered servant standing to bow her in. For she saw that there was no luggage, save those small parcels, and was feeling somewhat puzzled.

"It is Mrs. Grey, my lady; she who lives at the Maze."

Had the footman, Giles, said it was an inhabitant of the world of spirits, Lucy would not have felt more painfully and disagreeably startled. She! And she, Lucy, had sat with her in the same carriage and talked to her on pleasant terms of equality! She, Mrs. Grey! Well, Theresa was right: the face would do for an angel\'s.

"Why, my dear Lady Andinnian, how pale you look! It\'s the heat, I suppose."

Lucy, half bewildered, her senses seeming to have gone she knew not whither, found herself shaking hands with the speaker, Miss Patchett: an elderly and eccentric lady who lived midway between the station and the village of Foxwood. Lucy mechanically asked her if she had come in the train.

"Yes," answered Miss Patchett. "I\'ve been to London to engage a housemaid. And I am tired to death, my dear, and the London streets were like fire. I wish I was at home without having to walk there."

"Let the fly take you."

"It\'s hardly worth while, my dear: it\'s not far. And it would be taking you out of the way."

"Not many yards out of it. Step in, Miss Patchett."

The old lady stepped in, Lucy following her; Giles taking his place by the driver. Miss Patchett was set down at her house, and then the horse\'s head was turned round in the direction of Foxwood Court. The old lady had talked incessantly; Lucy had comprehended nothing. St. Jerome\'s absurd little bell was being swayed and tinkled by Tom Pepp, but Lucy had not given it a second glance, although it was the first time she had had the gratification of seeing and hearing it.

"I could almost have died, rather than it should have happened," she thought, her face burning now at the recollection of the encounter with Mrs. Grey, so mortifying to every good feeling within her. "How white she turned--how sharply she spoke--when they told her the fly was there for Lady Andinnian! And to think that I should have offered to set her down! To think it! Perhaps those parcels contained things that Karl bought for her in London!"

The fly, bowling on, was nearing the Maze gate. Lucy\'s fascinated gaze was, in spite of herself, drawn to it. A middle-aged woman servant had opened it and was receiving the parcels from the porter. Mrs. Grey had her purse out, paying him. As she put the coin into his hand, she paused to look at Lady Andinnian. It was not a rude look, but one that seemed full of eager interest. Lucy turned her eyes the other way, and caught a full view of Mr. Smith, the agent. He was stretched out at one of his sitting-room windows, surveying the scene with undisguised curiosity. Lucy sank into the darkest corner of the fly, and flung her hands over her burning face.

"Was any position in the world ever so painful as mine?" she cried with a rising sob. "How shall I live on, and bear it?"

The fly clattered in by the lodge gate and drew up at the house. Hewitt appeared at the door, and Giles stood for his mistress to alight.

"Has Sir Karl returned, Hewitt?" questioned Lucy.

"Not yet, my lady."

She stood for a moment in thought, then gave orders for the fly to wait, and went indoors. An idea had arisen that if she could get no comfort whispered to her, she should almost go out of her mind. Her aching heart was yearning for it.

"Hewitt, I shall go and see poor Miss Sumnor. I should like to take her a little basket of strawberries and a few of Maclean\'s best flowers. Will you see to it for me, and put them in the fly?"

She tan up stairs. She put off her robes alone, and came down in one of her cool muslins and a straw bonnet as plain as Mrs. Grey\'s. Hewitt had placed the basket of strawberries--some of the large pine-apple beauties that the Court was famous for--in the fly, a sheet of tissue paper upon them, and some lovely hothouse flowers on the paper. Lucy got in; told the footman she should not require his attendance; and was driven away to the vicarage.

"Am I to wait for you, my lady?" asked the driver, as he set her down with he............