If any one will take the trouble to refer to Bradshaw’s Guide—that fine piece of exercise for the brain—for the month in the year in which the events being recorded took place, he will find, in connection with the Great Western Railway service, that whereas the down express left Paddington at 4:50 p.m., there was an up train due at the platform at 4:55.

It was to meet this latter train that Mr Bray’s barouche was being rattled over the newly macadamised roads, with Charley Vining and Laura therein.

No one could have sat by Laura’s side for an instant without remarking her extreme agitation; and as Charley turned to gaze in her pleading face, he felt something like pity warming his breast towards her—her agitation was so genuine, and she had shown him the night before how earnest and passionate was her love.

Pity is said to be very nearly akin to love, and Charley’s pity was growing stronger. Why should he not take the good the gods provided him? She asked no more. But no; there was that one great proof wanted; and his words were quite cold and commonplace as he said to her, “You seem unwell. Do you not think it would be better to return home? Why, this poor little hand is quite chilly, and you shiver. You must have taken cold last night.”

“Cold? Last night? No, no,” she said hoarsely; and he felt the pressure upon his hand tighten. “We must meet Nelly, and I am quite well, Charley. I never felt more happy.”

He encountered her glance, but it awoke no response in his breast; and as he read her countenance, he saw there the tokens of a terrible agitation, and surely he may be excused for imagining himself the cause.

“At last!” said Charley impatiently, as he handed Laura out, trembling violently; but the next moment, though she was deathly pale, the agitation seemed to have passed away, and taking his arm, she held to it tightly.

“Ten minutes too soon,” said Charley. “Shall we go round to the waiting-room?”

“Yes, please,” cried Laura eagerly; and walking round, he stopped to read a waybill.

“Let me see,” he said; “this train leaves first. Ours comes in five minutes after.”

“Take me into the waiting-room,” said Laura anxiously. “It is cold out here.”

“I fear that you are going to be unwell,” he said, attending to her request.

“No; indeed, indeed I am quite well, dearest Charley,” she whispered, and an impatient frown crossed his brow; but he said no more, only half led, half followed her to a window looking out upon the platform, where there was the customary hurry previous to the departure of a train, when the first bell has rung. Porters running here and there with luggage, cool passengers, excited passengers, box- and wrapper-laden ladies’-maids seeking second-class carriages; footmen bearing fasces of umbrellas and walking-sticks; heavy swells seeking smoking-compartments; Smith’s boys shouting the evening papers; and as they gazed through the great plate-glass window of the waiting-room, the hurry and bustle seemed to have an interest for Charley he had never known before.

“We shall be in plenty of time when this train has gone,” said Laura; and she clung very tightly to his arm. “I long to see Nelly again. Don’t you think she improves?”

“Very much. I quite love that child!” said Charley with some animation. “She is so piquante, and fresh, and genuine!”

A sort of gasping sigh escaped from Laura’s breast, but he would not heed it.

And now the bustle was nearly over; the last bell had rung, the inspector had taken his last glance, the doors were banging, and the guard’s whistle was at his lips, when the inspector held up his hand, as there came the pattering of hastening feet on the platform.

“Bai Jove, portare, make haste, or we shall miss it!” cried a familiar voice.

“This way, sir,” was the reply; and an official trotted by with a black portmanteau on his shoulder and a bag in his hand; and Charley started as if he had received a fatal stab, for directly following, clinging to Max Bray’s arm, shawled and muffled, and pale as ashes, Ella Bedford passed the window.

“Max!” exclaimed Laura excitedly, while, as Charley made a movement to reach the door, she clung to his arm. “Dearest Charley,” she whispered in low impassioned tones, “my own love, my dear life, do not leave me! pray, pray do not leave! I love you dearly, more dearly than ever, and my heart bleeds for you—truly—faithfully!” She could say no more, for her emotion choked her utterance; but she clung to him wildly, as he stood, now pale and motionless as a statue, gazing through the window. And in those brief moments what had he seen?

Ella handed into a first-class compartment, Max following her, while her pale face was directly opposite to Charley, and only a couple of carriage-lengths distant. Then came the bang of the door, the piping whistle, the shriek of the engine, then the rapidly increasing panting snorts as of impatience to be off; the carriages glided by; and where Ella Bedford’s face had been the moment before, was first one and then another, strangers all; then the guards own, then blankness—a blankness that seemed to have made its way to his soul, till looking down he became aware of the stony face gazing up into his, the wild eyes, the parted lips, and the arms clinging to him so tightly.

His face softened as he gazed down at her, and then a sigh tore its way from his breast; a sigh that seemed to bear with it the image of a pale sweet face; and from that moment it was to Charley Vining as if he had been transformed into another man.

“My poor girl!” he said softly, more than pityingly, as he drew her arm closer to his breast.

“Charley!” she sighed gently; but there were volumes in that one word; and had they been alone, she would have thrown herself upon his breast, where she felt now she might cling. Then her eyes closed, a faint hysterical sob passed her lips, and she smiled, as if from a sense of ineffable satisfaction, as she felt his strong arms supporting her—that he was bearing her towards the inner room; and then all was blank.

Ten minutes after, Laura unclosed her eyes, to find herself upon a couch, with Nelly and Charley at her side; and starting up, she rested upon one elbow. Then she fixed her eyes upon the latter, and caught at his hand.

“You will not leave me?” she gasped hoarsely.

“No!” he whispered almost tenderly. “I feared that you were unwell.” And he passed his hand across her damp brow, smoothing back the raven hair; and Laura sank back, her e............