Within a week of the occurrence which is related in the last chapter, there came a telegram from Southampton to the parsonage at St. Diddulph’s, saying that Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley had reached England. On the evening of that day they were to lodge at a small family hotel in Baker Street, and both Mrs Trevelyan and Nora were to be with them. The leave-taking at the parsonage was painful, as on both sides there existed a feeling that affection and sympathy were wanting. The uncle and aunt had done their duty, and both Mrs Trevelyan and Nora felt that they ought to have been demonstrative and cordial in their gratitude, but they found it impossible to become so. And the rector could not pretend but that he was glad to be rid of his guests. There were, too, some last words about money to be spoken, which were grievous thorns in the poor man’s flesh. Two bank notes, however, were put upon his table, and he knew that unless he took them he could not pay for the provisions which his unwelcome visitors had consumed. Surely there never was a man so cruelly ill-used as had been Mr Outhouse in all this matter. ‘Another such winter as that would put me in my grave,’ he said, when his wife tried to comfort him after they were gone. ‘I know that they have both been very good to us,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, as she and her sister, together with the child and the nurse, hurried away toward Baker Street in a cab, ‘but I have never for a moment felt that they were glad to have us.’ ‘But how could they have been glad to have us,’ she added afterwards, ‘when we brought such trouble with us?’ But they to whom they were going now would receive her with joy, would make her welcome with all her load of sorrows, would give to her a sympathy which it was impossible that she should receive from others. Though she might not be happy now, for in truth how could she be ever really happy again, there would be a joy to her in placing her child in her mother’s arms, and in receiving her father’s warm caresses. That her father would be very vehement in his anger against her husband she knew well, for Sir Marmaduke was a vehement man. But there would be some support for her in the very violence of his wrath, and at this moment it was such support that she most needed. As they journeyed together in the cab, the married sister seemed to be in the higher spirits of the two. She was sure, at any rate, that those to whom she was going would place themselves on her side. Nora had her own story to tell about Hugh Stanbury, and was by no means so sure that her tale would be received with cordial agreement. ‘Let me tell them myself,’ she whispered to her sister. ‘Not to-night, because they will have so much to say to you; but I shall tell mamma tomorrow.’

The train by which the Rowleys were to reach London was due at the station at 7.30 p.m., and the two sisters timed their despatch from St. Diddulph’s so as to enable them to reach the hotel at eight. ‘We shall be there now before mamma,’ said Nora, ‘because they will have so much luggage, and so many things, and the trains are always late.’ When they started from the door of the parsonage, Mr Outhouse gave the direction to the cabman, ‘Gregg’s Hotel, Baker Street.’ Then at once he began to console himself in that they were gone.

It was a long drive from St. Diddulph’s in the east, to Marylebone in the west, of London. None of the party in the cab knew anything of the region through which they passed. The cabman took the line by the back of the Bank, and Finsbury Square and the City Road, thinking it best, probably, to avoid the crush at Holborn Hill, though at the expense of something of a circuit. But of this Mrs Trevelyan and Nora knew nothing. Had their way taken them along Piccadilly, or through Mayfair, or across Grosvenor Square, they would have known where they were; but at present they were not thinking of those once much-loved localities. The cab passed the Angel, and up and down the hill at Pentonville, and by the King’s Cross stations, and through Euston Square and then it turned up Gower Street. Surely the man should have gone on along the New Road, now that he had come so far out of his way. But of this the two ladies knew nothing nor did the nurse. It was a dark, windy night, but the lamps in the streets had given them light, so that they had not noticed the night. Nor did they notice it now as the streets became narrower and darker. They were hardly thinking that their journey was yet at an end, and the mother was in the act of covering her boy’s face as he lay asleep on the nurse’s lap, when the cab was stopped. Nora looking out through the window, saw the word ‘Hotel’ over a doorway, and was satisfied.‘shall I take the child, ma’am?’ said a man in black, and the child was handed out. Nora was the first to follow, and she then perceived that the door of the hotel was not open. Mrs Trevelyan followed; and then they looked round them and the child was gone. They heard the rattle of another cab as it was carried away at a gallop round a distant corner and then some inkling of what had happened came upon them. The father had succeeded in getting possession of his child.

It was a narrow, dark street, very quiet, having about it a certain air of poor respectability an obscure, noiseless street, without even a sign of life. Some unfortunate one had endeavoured here to keep an hotel, but there was no hotel kept there now. There had been much craft in selecting the place in which the child had been taken from them. As they looked around them, perceiving the terrible misfortune which had befallen them, there was not a human being near them save the cabman, who was occupied in unchaining, or pretending to unchain the heavy mass of luggage on the roof. The windows of the house before which they were stopping, were closed, and Nora perceived at once that the hotel was not inhabited. The cabman must have perceived it also. As for the man who had taken the child, the nurse could only say that he was dressed in black, like a waiter, that he had a napkin under his arm, and no hat on his head. He had taken the boy tenderly in his arms and then she had seen nothing further. The first thing that Nora had seen, as she stood on the pavement, was the other cab moving off rapidly.

Mrs Trevelyan had staggered against the railings, and was soon screaming in her wretchedness. Before long there was a small crowd around them, comprising three or four women, a few boys, an old man or two and a policeman. To the policeman Nora had soon told the whole story, and the cabman was of course attacked. But the cabman played his part very well. He declared that he had done just what he had been told to do. Nora was indeed sure that she had heard her uncle desire him to drive to Gregg’s Hotel in Baker Street. The cabman in answer to this, declared that he had not clearly heard the old gentleman’s directions; but that a man whom he had conceived to be a servant, had very plainly told him to drive to Parker’s Hotel, Mowbray Street, Gower Street. ‘I comed ever so far out of my way,’ said the cabman, ‘to avoid the rumpus with the homnibuses at the hill cause the ladies things is so heavy we’d never got up if the ‘otherwise had once jibbed.’ All which, though it had nothing to do with the matter, seemed to impress the policeman with the idea that the cabman, if not a true man, was going to be too clever for them on this occasion. And the crafty cabman went on to declare that his horse was so tired with the road that he could not go on to Baker Street. They must get another cab. Take his number! Of course they could take his number. There was his number. His fare was four and six, that is, if the ladies wouldn’t pay him anything extra for the terrible load; and he meant to have it. It would be sixpence more if they kept him there many minutes longer. The number was taken, and another cab was got, and the luggage was transferred, and the money was paid, while the unhappy mother was still screaming in hysterics against the railings. What had been done was soon clear enough to all those around her. Nora had told the policeman, and had told one of the women, thinking to obtain their sympathy and assistance. ‘It’s the kid’s dada as has taken it,’ said one man, ‘and there ain’t nothing to be done.’ There was nothing to be done, nothing, at any rate, then and there.

Nora had been very eager that the cabman should be arrested; but the pol............