orders to fire, on the chance of our hearing him.  A little notion of mine, sir, to prevent our being surprised in the fog.  Do you see any objection to it?’ Objection!  In the days when diplomacy was something more than a solemn pretense, what a member of Congress that gardener would have made!  Well, we shipped our oars, and away we went.  Not quite haphazard—­for we had a compass with us.  Our course was as straight as we could go, to a village on the opposite side of the lake, called Brightfold.  Nothing happened for the first quarter of an hour—­and then, by the living Jingo (excuse my vulgarity), we heard the gun!”

“What did you do?”

“Went on rowing, and held a council.  This time I came out as the clever one of the party.  The men were following us in the dark; they would have to guess at the direction we had taken, and they would most likely assume (in such weather as we had) that we should choose the shortest way across the lake.  At my suggestion we changed our course, and made for a large town, higher up on the shore, called Tawley.  We landed, and waited for events, and made no discovery of another boat behind us.  The fools had justified my confidence in them—­they had gone to Brightfold.  There was half-an-hour to spare before the next train came to Tawley; and the fog was beginning to lift on that side of the lake.  We looked at the shops; and I made a purchase in the town.”

“Stop a minute,” said Randal.  “Is Brightfold on the railway?”

“No.”

“Is there an electric telegraph at the place?”

“Yes.”

“That was awkward, wasn’t it?  The first thing those men would do would be to telegraph to Tawley.”

“Not a doubt of it.  How would they describe us, do you think?”

Randal answered.  “A middle-aged gentleman—­two ladies, one of them elderly—­and a little girl.  Quite enough to identify you at Tawley, if the station-master understood the message.”

“Shall I tell you what the station-master discovered, with the message in his hand?  No elderly lady, no middle-aged gentleman; nothing more remarkable than one lady—­and a little boy.”

Randal’s face brightened.  “You parted company, of course,” he said; “and you disguised Kitty!  How did you manage it?”

“Didn’t I say just now that we looked at the shops, and that I made a purchase in the town?  A boy’s ready-made suit—­not at all a bad fit for Kitty!  Mrs. Linley put on the suit, and tucked up the child’s hair under a straw hat, in an empty yard—­no idlers about in that bad weather.  We said good-by, and parted, with grievous misgivings on my side, which proved (thank God!) to have been quite needless.  Kitty and her mother went to the station, and Mrs. Presty and I hired a carriage, and drove away to the head of the lake, to catch the train to London.  Do you know, Randal, I have altered my opinion of Mrs. Presty?”

Randal smiled.  “You too have found something in that old woman,” he said, “which doesn’t appear on the surface.”