The driver of the hansom cab which Pauline had chartered did his duty nobly by his fare. In going so long a distance, and on a comparatively deserted road, he knew too well the impossibility of concealing his pursuit from the observation of his brother Jehu; indeed, no sooner did they pass the confines of Guelph Park than the driver who had Martin in his charge turned round, and there ensued between the two men an interchange of signs familiar only to the initiated of the craft, which set them both at their ease, and prevented farther interrogation. Pauline's driver followed the other hansom at sufficient distance never to lose sight of it; and when Martin Gurwood stopped the cab and alighted from it, the pursuing cabman drew up at a convenient bend of the road and communicated the fact to his fare. Then Pauline jumped out, discharged the man--she would provide her own means of return, she said--and slowly and stealthily followed Martin's retreating figure.  
The pursuit in which she was engaged was by no means unpleasant to Pauline; indeed, she rather liked it. There was, as has before been noticed, something stealthy and cat-like in her nature and her manner; and the mere fact that, unknown to him, she was watching a person who was evidently engaged in a private mission, the discovery of which might seriously affect him, and would in any event be disagreeable to him, had for her a potent charm. As she journeyed onward in the cab, her thoughts had been fixed upon the object of Martin Gurwood's secret expedition. That it was of importance she was certain, or he would not otherwise have refused with so much decision his mother's request that he should devote the day to the inspection of documents in Mr. Jeffrey's company. That it had to do with the mystery of Calverley and Claxton, and consequently with the greater, and to her far more interesting mystery of Tom Durham's disappearance, she fully believed. As yet she had been able to discover nothing concerning the paper which she had found in the wooden box underneath Mr. Calverley's desk, the memorandum of the transfer of two thousand pounds 'to be given to T.D. at the request of A.C.' Perhaps the very business on which she was engaged might give her some clue to it--might reveal the identity of this Claxton which Mr. Calverley had so pertinaciously concealed from her. Once brought face to face with him, she could readily trust to her own wit and tact to extract from him the information she required, or, at all events, to learn something that would be of service to her in accomplishing her self-imposed task.
 
What can there be for Martin Gurwood to search after in this queer, out-of-the-world village, amongst these old-fashioned cottages, standing back in gardens, where the size of the trees, the hedges, and the evergreens shows the length of time they have been growing? This man Claxton cannot live in this place, so remote from the bustle of life, so inaccessible to ordinary traffic. This is a spot to which one might retire for rest and. repose after a long career of business. What has brought Martin Gurwood to such a place? Whom can he be seeking here?
 
As these thoughts passed through Pauline's mind, the object of her pursuit turned from the high road and passed out of her sight. She noted the spot where he had disappeared, and when she reached it was just in time to see him leaning over the half-gate, and contemplating the garden stretched out before him. Pauline paused at the end of the road until she saw him open the gate and enter the garden; then she slowly sauntered on.
 
When Pauline reached the gate Martin Gurwood had disappeared. The gate, slammed to by the spring attached to it, was still vibrating on its hinges, his retreating footsteps on the gravel path were still faintly audible, but the man himself was not to be seen. So far, then, she had succeeded. She had tracked him to the house which he had come to visit; now she must ascertain: what was his business there.
 
How to set about this perplexed her sorely. A score of different notions rushed into her mind. It would be easy to ascertain the name and character of the occupant of the house from any of the tradespeople in the village, but on looking round Pauline found that there were no shops within sight, and she was fearful that during the time occupied by her absence Martin Gurwood might leave the place. Should she open the gate, boldly march up the carriage-drive, and ask for the master of the house, trusting to herself to find some pretext for addressing him when he came? That would lay her open to the chance of Martin Gurwood's seeing her before she had been able to gain any information, and either postponing the business which had brought him there, or deceiving her as to its nature. She must think it all over more carefully before she acted, and meanwhile she would walk round and survey the premises.
 
The cottage stood, as has been stated, in the midst of a very large old-fashioned garden. On the left of this garden was a narrow path, bounded on one side by the garden itself; on the other by a huge hedge belonging to Doctor Broadbent, and encouraged by him in its wildest luxuriance, to screen his premises from the observation of such of the villagers as used the path for the short cut from the village to the London road. The hedge had at one time been equally luxuriant on the Rose-Cottage side, but Alice had strong notions of the necessity for plenty of air, and had persuaded John to have it trimmed to a moderate height. 'What on earth do we want with that great green screen keeping off every breath of air,' she said; 'and as for what Mr. Broadbent says about privacy, that is all nonsense. Not ten people in the day go down the lane, and none of them ever think of looking into our garden. If they did, they would be perfectly welcome; would they not, John? I am sure there is nothing here that we wish to conceal; is there, dear?' And John acquiescing, as he did in everything she proposed, the hedge was trimmed accordingly. So that Pauline, walking down this path, found that as soon as she had proceeded a certain distance she had an uninterrupted view of the back of the house, and of a large portion of the garden.
 
She knew nothing of horticulture, and had never given any attention to gardens, they had not come into her line of life, but she was always observant, and she noticed the trim and orderly manner in which this place was kept, and thought that it reflected great credit on the gardener, whom she saw in the distance wheeling away a great load of dead leaves, which he had collected into a heap and pressed into his barrow. She was about to call the man to her, and compliment him on the state of his garden, at the same time taking advantage of the opportunity of asking a few questions about his employer, when a little girl, with long fair hair streaming down her back, ran out of the shrubbery in chase of an india-rubber ball which bounded before her.
 
Pauline drew back for an instant, but the child did not notice her, so engrossed was she by her game. In a few minutes, however, the ball bounded over the hedge, and fell at Pauline's feet.
 
The child looked round for aid, which was generally available in the person of the gardener; but the gardener had wheeled his barrow out of sight by this time, and all that the child could do, therefore, was to put her finger to her lip, and burst into tears.
 
'Don't cry, my child,' said Pauline softly, speaking to her.
 
The child looked up, but on catching sight of Pauline hid her face in her hands, and cried more copiously than before.
 
'Don't cry, my child,' repeated Pauline; 'don't be afraid. See, here is your ball,' holding it up. 'Shall I throw it to you.'
 
'Ess,' said the child, looking up shyly through her fingers, 'frow it down at wonst, pease.'
 
Pauline complied. The ball fell at the child's feet, and rolled a little distance behind her, but she took no notice of it; she was fully occupied in examining her newly found friend.
 
Out of her great blue eyes the child stared in silence for some moments, then coming closer to the hedge she said, still staring earnestly, 'Are you a Hinjin?'
 
Pauline was completely puzzled.
 
'A what, child?' she asked.
 
'A Hinjin,' repeated the child. Do you tum from Hinjia?'
 
'Gr--r--rand Dieu!' cried Pauline, surprised into one of the exclamations of her old life. 'No, child; what makes you think that?'
 
'Tos you have dot a brack face, and you speak so funny,' said the child.
 
Pauline smiled. 'A black face,' she said to herself. 'I am swarthy enough, I know; but if this child thinks me black, she must needs have lived with very fair people. She seems sufficiently intelligent, and may probably be able to give me some information. What is your name, my dear?' she said to the child.
 
'Bell,' said the child promptly.
 
'Bell!' repeated Pauline; what a pretty name--blonde et belle! What is your other name, my dear?'
 
The child thought for a moment, and then said gravely, 'Lickle Bell.'
 
'O, but you must have some other name besides that,' said Pauline. 'What is your other name?'
 
'No more,' said the child, shaking her head.
 
'Yes, but your nom de famille--your family name. You have that?'
 
'No, no, no,'. said the child, emphasising each word with a shake of her head.
 
'But your papa--'
 
'He's dorn away travelling on 'ail'oad.'
 
'Gone travelling on the railroad, has he? Has your mamma gone with him?'
 
'No, me mamma's at home--been teaching me my 'cripture 'istory.'
 
'What a kind, good mamma!' said Pauline, with a curling lip. 'And what is your mamma's name, dear?'
 
'Misse C'axton, 'Ose Tottage, 'Endon, Mid'sex,' said the child, all in a breath, the sentence being evidently the result of much practice.
 
Mrs. Claxton, the wife of the man at whose request Mr. Calverley had given the two thousand pounds to Tom Durham. Ah, how Pauline's heart bounded, and how the colour flushed into her swarthy cheeks, at hearing those words! She had been right, then; the instinct that so seldom deserted her had served her truly in this instance. She had felt all along that the secret business on which Martin Gurwood had been engaged had some reference to her affairs, and now she had proved it.
 
What were the relations between Martin Gurwood and Mrs. Claxton? Pshaw! Had her steady business-like brain taken to weaving romances? What more likely than that Mrs. Calverley's son should come out to seek an interview on business matters with the wife of her dead husband's partner? Stay, though--with the partner, yes; but the child had said that Mr. Claxton was away travelling on business. Pauline knew of her own knowledge that Mrs. Calverley had never seen Mr. Claxton, much less his wife, and recognised at once that had business been the object of the interview, it was Mr. Jeffreys who would have been dispatched to seek an interview with the partner, and not Mr. Gurwood to see the wife. The mystery still remained in fullest force, and had yet to be elucidated by her.
 
Of ............