Arthur had come, and was alone.  The train had been on time, and at just half-past ten the long line of cars stopped before the Shannondale station, where John, the coachman from Tracy Park, was waiting.  The night was dark, but by the light from the engine and the office John saw the foreign-looking stranger, who stepped upon the platform, and felt sure it was his man.  But there was no one with him, though it seemed as if he were expecting some one to follow him from the car as he stood for a moment waiting.  Then, as the train moved on, he turned with a puzzled look upon his face to meet John, who said to him, respectfully: 

‘Are you Mr. Arthur Tracy?’

‘Yes; who are you?’ was the not very cordial response.

‘Mr. Frank Tracy sent me from the park to fetch you,’ John replied.  ’I think he expected some one with you.  Are you alone?’

‘Yes—­no, no!’ and Arthur’s voice indicated growing alarm and uneasiness as he looked rapidly around him, ’Where is she?  Didn’t you see her?  She was with me all the way.  Surely she got off when I did.  Where can she have gone?’

He was greatly excited, and kept peering through the darkness as he talked; while John, a good deal puzzled, looked curiously at him, as if uncertain whether he were in his right mind or not.

‘Was there some one with you in the car?’ he asked.

’Yes, in the car, and in New York, and on the ship.  She was with me all the way,’ Mr. Tracy replied.  ’It is strange where she is now.  Did no one alight from the train when I did?’

‘No one,’ John answered, more puzzled than ever....  ’I was looking for you, and there was no one else.  She may have fallen asleep and been carried by.’

‘Yes, probably that is it,’ Mr. Tracy said, more cheerfully, ’she was asleep and carried by.  She will come back to-morrow.’

He seemed quite content with this solution of the mystery, and began to talk of his luggage, which lay upon the platform—­a pile so immense that John looked at it in some alarm, knowing that the carriage could never take it all.

‘Eight trunks, two portmanteaus, and a hat-box!’ he said, aloud, counting the pieces.

’Yes, and a nice sum those rascally agents in New York made me pay for having them come with me,’ Arthur rejoined.  ’They weighed them all, and charged me a little fortune.  I might as well have sent them by express; but I wanted them with me, and here they are.  What will you do with them?  This is hers,’ and he designated a black trunk or box, longer and larger than two ordinary trunks ought to be.

’I can take one of them with the box and portmanteau, and the expressman will take the rest.  He is here.  Hallo, Brown,’ John said, calling to a man in the distance, who came forward, and, on learning what was wanted, begun piling the trunks into his wagon, while Arthur followed John, to the carriage, which he entered, and, sinking into a seat, pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his face and eyes, and sat as motionless as if he had been a stone.