“They are prepared for you here,” he said, as they stood on the pavement.  “Just give your name.  And—­you will not go away?  You will wait till some one calls?”

Ida nodded.

" No; but your word,” Julian urged anxiously.  “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She went up to the door and knocked.  Julian walked quickly away.  At the end of the street Mr. Woodstock was waiting.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, examining the young man anxiously.

“Nothing—­nothing!”

“Does she seem well?”

“I think so; yes,” Casti replied, in a stifled voice.  Then he asked hurriedly, “Where can Waymark be?  What does it all mean?”

Mr. Woodstock shook his head, looking annoyed.

“I am convinced,” Julian said, “that something is wrong.  Surely it’s time to make inquiries.”

“Yes, yes; I will do so.  But you look downright ill.  Do you feel able to get home?  If I’d thought it would upset you like this—­”

Mr. Woodstock was puzzled, and kept scrutinising the other’s face.

“I shall go home and have a little rest,” Julian said.  “I didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.  But I must hear about Waymark.”

“You shall.  I’ll warrant he turns up in the course of the day.  Don’t be anxious:  I’ll get to work as soon as possible to find him; but, depend upon it, the fellow’s all right.”

They shook hands, and Julian took his way homewards.  Mr. Woodstock went to the house which Ida had just entered.  He knocked lightly, and a woman opened to him and led him into a sitting-room on the ground-floor.

“I’ll just have a cup of coffee, Mrs. Sims,” he said.  “Does she seem to care for her breakfast?”

“I’m afraid not, sir; she looks tired out, and poorly like.”

“Yes, yes; the long journey and her troubles.  Make her as comfortable as you can.  I’ll make myself at home with the paper here for an hour or so.  Just see if she cares to lie down for a little; If so I won’t disturb her.”

Abraham did not devote much attention to the news.  He sat before the fire, a cup of coffee within reach on the mantel piece, his legs fully stretched out before him, his favourite attitude when thinking.  In spite of his fresh complexion and active limbs, you would have seen, had you watched him in his present mood, that Mr. Woodstock was beginning to age.  Outwardly he was well-preserved—­ few men of his years anything like so well.  But let the inner man become visible during a fit of brooding, and his features made evident the progress of years.  His present phase of countenance was a recent development; the relaxed lines brought to light a human kindliness not easily discoverable in the set expression of wide-awake hours.  At present there was even tenderness in his eyes, and something of sad recollection.  His strong mouth twitched a little at times, and his brows contracted, as if in self-reproach.  When he returned to himself, it was with a sigh.  He sat for about an hour; then the woman presented herself again, and told him that Miss Starr had been persuaded to lie down.  It seemed likely she might sleep.