“And if he has done this, what can I do?”

“Nothing.  It is entirely within his right to do it.”

“And have her stowed away in some little cottage in the country, with that brute Ezra Girdlestone hanging round her all the time.  It is the thought of that that drives me wild.”

“You trust in her, my boy,” said the old doctor.  “We’ll try our best in the meantime to find out where she has gone to.  If she is unhappy or needs a friend you may be sure that she will write to your mother.”

“Yes, there is always that hope,” exclaimed Tom, in a more cheerful voice.  “To-morrow I may learn something at the office.”

“Don’t make the mistake of quarrelling with the Girdlestones.  After all, they are within their rights in doing what they appear to have done.”

“They may be within their legal rights,” Tom cried indignantly; “but the old man made a deliberate compact with me, which he has broken.”

“Never mind.  Don’t give them an advantage by losing your temper.”  The doctor chatted away over the matter for some time, and his words, together with those of his mother, cheered the young fellow’s heart.  Nevertheless, after they had retired to their rooms, Dr. Dimsdale continued to be very thoughtful and very grave.  “I don’t like it,” he said, more than once.  “I don’t like the idea of the poor girl being left entirely in the hands of that pair of beauties.  God grant that no harm come of it, Matilda!” a prayer which his good wife echoed with all the strength of her kindly nature.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE JOURNEY TO THE PRIORY.

It was already dusk when John Girdlestone and his ward reached Waterloo Station.  He gave orders to the guard that the luggage should be stamped, but took care that she should not hear the name of their destination.  Hurrying her rapidly down the platform amid the confused heaps of luggage and currents of eager passengers, he pushed her into a first-class carriage, and sprang after her just as the bell rang and the wheels began to revolve.

They were alone.  Kate crouched up into the corner among the cushions, and wrapped her rug round her, for it was bitterly cold.  The merchant pulled a note-book from his pocket and proceeded by the light of the lamp above him to add up columns of figures.  He sat very upright in his seat, and appeared to be as absorbed in his work as though he were among his papers in Fenchurch Street.  He neither glanced at his companion nor made any inquiry as to her comfort.