“Nina, you are so persistent.”

“Exactly, I am so persistent.  Now my eyes are shut.  Please begin to think.”

CHAPTER XIII.

THE WHITE BOAT AND THE GREEN.

About a fortnight after the events mentioned in the last chapter, the landlady of the Blue Lion, the little slatternly village inn where Mr. Hart and his granddaughter had their quarters, was somewhat disappointed, somewhat puzzled, and certainly possessed by the demon of curiosity when Hart told her that he and his granddaughter intended to take their departure that evening.  Hart often went away; Mrs. Timms was quite accustomed to his sudden exits, but his granddaughter was always left as a hostage behind.  Hart with his queer ways, his erratic payments, was perhaps not the most inviting lodger for an honest landlady to count upon, but Mrs. Timms had grown accustomed to him.  She scolded him, and grumbled at him, but on the whole she made a good thing out of him, for no one could be more generous than old Hart when he was at all flush of cash.

He came down, however, this morning, and told her he was going.

“For a fortnight or so?” responded Mrs. Timms.  “You’ll leave Miss Josephine behind as usual?  I’ll take good care of her.”

“No, Miss Josephine is also going.  Make out our bills, my good Timms, I can pay you in full.”

That evening there arrived at Northbury by the seven o’clock train a single first-class passenger—­a girl dressed in a long gray cloak, and a big, picturesque shady hat stepped on to the platform.  She was the only passenger to alight at Northbury, and the one or two sleepy porters regarded her with interest and admiration.  She was very graceful, and her light-colored eyes had a peculiar quick expression which made people turn to watch her again.

The strange girl had scarcely any luggage—­only a small portmanteau covered with a neat case of brown holland, and a little trunk to match.

She asked one of the porters to call a cab, did not disdain the shaky and ghastly-looking conveyance which Loftus Bertram had been too proud to use; sprang lightly into it, desired the porter to put her luggage on the roof, and gave the address of Rosendale Manor.

“Oh, that accounts for it,” said the man to his mate.  “She’s one of them proud Bertram folk.  I thought by the looks of her as she didn’t belong to none of the Northbury people.”

The other laughed.

“She have got an eye,” he said.  “My word, don’t it shine?  Seems to scorch one up.”

“There’s the 7.12 luggage train signalled, Jim!” exclaimed the other.

The men forgot the strange girl and returned to their duties.

Meanwhile, she sat back in her cab, and gazed complacently about her.  She knew the scene through which she was passing—­she had looked on it before.  Very travel-stained and weary she had been then; very fresh and keen, and all alive she felt now.