lost every penny by the omission) was happily
not needed after all.

And in the third place, he was going into the
country for a week or ten days. That was the
last and best of all! After six weeks of feverish
London life—six long, dazzling, breathless,
wonderful weeks—he felt his heart leap at the
thought of the free, fresh air, and open sky. He
longed to be up and out again at grey dawn,
with a gun on his shoulder and a dog at his
heels. He longed to feel the turf under his
feet; and, above all, to practise the art of
horsemanship in some more favourable locality than
the yard of the riding-school, or the crowded
manège of Rotten Row. To this end, he had a
couple of thorough-breds and a groom with him,
and had just seen the animals safely disposed
of in a horse-box, ready to join the train as soon
as it was backed into the station.

So Saxon was in great spirits, and went round
and about, looking at the book-stalls and the
hurrying passengers, and thinking what a charming
thing it was to have youth, riches, friends,
and all the world of books and art before one!
There were, in truth, a great many half-formed
projects floating about his brain just now—
vague pictures of a yachting tour in the
Mediterranean; visions of Rome, and Naples, and
the isles of Greece; glimpses of the Nile, and
the Pyramids, and even of the white domes of
Jerusalem. For some of these schemes Lord
Castletowers was answerable, but, let the fore-
ground be what it might, the familiar snow-peaks
of the Rhœtian Alps closed in the distance of
every wondrous landscape that Saxon's vivid
imagination bodied forth. He had no thought
of wandering into Italy without first revisiting
the valley of Domleschg; and still less did he
ever dream of making his permanent home away
from that still, primitive, untrodden place. But
he had projects about that also, and meant some
day to build a beautiful commodious château
(not so large, but much more beautiful than
Count Planta's), and to rebuild the church, and
throw a new bridge over the Rhine, erect model
cottages, and make every one happy around him.

"Well, what is it?" said an authoritative
voice. "Anything the matter?"

Saxon was looking at the red and gold backs
of a long row of Traveller's Guides on a book-
stand close by, and the voice broke in abruptly
on the pleasant reverie which their titles had
suggested. He turned, and saw a lady, a rail-
way guard, and a burly-looking official with a
pen behind his ear, standing at the door of an
empty second-class carriage of the up-train which
had discharged its freight of passengers three or
four minutes ago.

The guard touched his cap.

"Lady's lost her ticket, sir," he replied, with
a knowing twinkle of the eye.

"I know I had it when the train stopped at
Weybridge," said the lady. "I took it out from
my purse, because I thought the guard was
going to ask to see it."

Her voice trembled a little as she said this,
stooping forward into the carriage all the while,
in search of the missing ticket.

The burly official drew his hand across his
mouth, and coughed doubtfully. "Where did
you take it from, miss?" he asked.

"From Sedgebrook station."

The name came familiarly to Saxon's ear; for
it happened that Sedgebrook was precisely the
point to which Lord Castletowers had directed
him to take his own ticket.

"Humph! Well, Salter, I suppose you've
searched the carriage thoroughly?"

"Quite thoroughly, sir," replied the guard.

The official went through the form of peering
into it himself.

"Shall I have to pay the fare a second time?"
asked the lady, nervously.

"You'll have to pay it from Exeter—the point
where the train started from."

"From Exeter? But I only came from
Sedgebrook!"

"Can't help that, miss. Those are our regulations.
Any passenger, unable to produce his
ticket on alighting, must pay his full fare from
the point of departure. This train comes from
Exeter, and from Exeter you must pay. There
hangs our table of by-laws."

Her face was turned towards Saxon now, as
she stood by the carriage door, looking from the
one man to the other. It was a very young face,
quite childlike in its appealing timidity, and as
pale as a lily.

"Thank you," she said, hurriedly, " How much
will it be?"

"One pound five."

The pale face became scarlet, and the childlike
eyes filled with sudden tears.

"Oh dear!" she said, tremulously, " what
shall I do? I have not so much money as that!"

Saxon had seen that she was poorly dressed,
and knew, as well as if he had looked into it,
that her slender purse could ill spare even the
paltry three shillings and sixpence from
Sedgebrook to London. His hand had been in his
waistcoat-pocket half a dozen times already, and
was only withdrawn empty because he felt that
it would be a simple impertinence to interpose.
But now he could bear it no longer.

"May I be permitted, madam," he said, bowing
to the young girl as profoundly as if she were
a princess of the blood royal, "to arrange this
matter for you?"

And he slipped her fare into the guard's hand.

The blush deepened painfully upon her cheek.

"I—I thank you, sir," she faltered. "I thank
you very much. Will you be good enough to
give me your card, that I may know where to
send the money?"

Saxon felt in his pockets, looked in his purse,
and found that he had not the vestige of a card
about him. At this moment a bell rang on the
opposite platform, and a porter whom he had
entrusted with his railway-rug and the task of
securing him a seat, came running breathlessly up.