to Chesham-place, where his cousin, the
minister, lived;  a man who, for certain
reasons of gratitude, had shown the
strongest desire to serve him, but whose
good offices Lowndes had always declined.
The great man had just finished breakfast,
and was in his study, reading, with that
callousness which long use produces, an
abusive article upon himself in one of the
morning papers. He raised his eyebrows
as he laid down the paper, and held out
his hand.

"Why, what brings you out at this unusual
hour, Lowndes?  I did not know you
were in town. How is your mother?"

"Very well, thank you. I wanted to
talk to you, so I came early. You won't
believe me, I dare say; but I'm sick of
doing nothing. Sudden change, isn't it?
Like the rest of my friends, you have
always been at me for being so lazy. Well,
at last I have begun to see, myself, that it's
a mistake. I don't know that I am good
for much, but I am come to tell you that if
you can find me anything to do, I'll do it.
It can't be harder work than trying to kill
time when one feels confoundedly bored—
that's certain."

The minister, whilst expressing his satisfaction
at the change in his cousin's views, reminded
Lowndes that appointments of any
kind did " not grow on gooseberry-
bushes;"  that the press and the public now
exercised a sharp look-out for all such as
were not justified by merit;  and, lastly, that
he had no immediate prospect of anything
falling into his gift. But he promised not
to be unmindful of Lowndes's wishes, and
he exhorted him, in the mean while, to
employ his time in studying, with a
solicitor, common law, a knowledge of which
must, in any calling, be a valuable acquisition.
And then, a special messenger being
announced, he shook Lowndes's hand and
dismissed him.

The important place that trivial accidents
hold in life is a truth of which each
man's experience must afford numberless
examples. In leaving Beckworth suddenly,
as he did, Lowndes had found it expedient
to leave his valet behind him.That individual
had received the order to "pack
portmanteaux" instantly with consternation,
consequent, as he explained, upon the
fact that half his master's linen was at the
wash!  He was ordered, therefore, to follow
Lowndes as soon as this could be recovered;
and by the first train on Friday he
appeared, charged not alone with clean
shirts, but with the strange tidings which
had disturbed the whole Beckworth
household on the previous day. But for this,
it is very certain that Lowndes would not
have heard of the discovery touching Maud,
and of her departure, for some weeks. Mrs.
Cartaret would naturally have abstained
from all allusion to her in writing to her
son;  and, not until his next visit (which
he had resolved should not be for a month
at least) would he have known the truth.
And then, if his mother had kept her own
counsel, all clue by which to trace the girl
would have been lost.

Everything is known, everything discussed
in the servants' hall, and Lowndes's
valet, being perfectly aware of the
particular interest which his master took in
the young person, a garbled version of
whose story had excited so much curiosity
when it penetrated to the lower regions
at Beckworth, lost no time in informing
Mr. Cartaret of what had occurred twelve
hours after the latter had left home. It
was, as I have said, a garbled version;
still, there was the main outline. Mary
Hind was not Mary Hind, but a gentleman's
daughter, who had run away from
home; and the parson of the parish had
come after her, and had carried her back
with him. This was all that Lowndes retained;
he cleared the tale of its super-incumbent
rubbish, and held fast by these
facts. He put himself into the five o'clock
train, and reached Beckworth, just as his
mother was going to bed, that night.

She guessed at once why he was come,
and looked somewhat aghast.

"Tell me the truth of all this, mother.
It is of no use any longer beating about
the bush—where is Mary Hind gone?"

"What is that to you, Lowndes?" said
the old lady, taking courage "with both
hands," as she would herself have said.

"After what happened on Tuesday night,
I have a right to know whether she left
Beckworth of her own free will, or not."

"Because she promised you to remain,
hein?  La coquine!  Well, then;  she did
not leave it of her own free will. She left
it because I turned her out—there!"

"Where is she gone?  I ask you again."

"Ca ne vous regarde pas."

"It is so much my business that I won't
rest till I have found out."

"Allez au diable!"  cried the old lady,
violently thumping the sofa with her little
fist. "What do you mean by all this?
Do you think I am going to encourage your
intrigues, sir? Go, find out as you can.
I will tell you nothing."