“Ach, look!  Ve shall be late!”

“That train is going north,” said Eleanor.  “Guess we’ve half an hour good before yours comes in.”

So little can mortals read the stars that he heaved a sigh of relief, and even murmured—­

“Ve have timed him very luckily!”

Ten minutes later they descended the hill to Torrydhulish Station.  The north-going train had paid its brief call and vanished nearly from sight again; no one seemed to be moving about the station, and the Baron told himself that nothing worse remained than the exercise of a little tact in parting with his deliverers.

“Ach!  I shall carry it off gaily,” he thought, and leaping lightly to the ground, exclaimed with a genial air, as he gave his hand to Eva.

“Vell!  Now have I a leetle surprise for you, ladies!”

Nor did he at all exaggerate their sensation.

“Miss Maddison!”

Alas, that it should be so far beyond the power of mere inky words to express all that was implied in Eva’s accents!

“Miss Gallosh!”

Nor is it less impossible to supply the significance of Eleanor’s intonation.

“Ladies, ladies!” he implored, “do not, I pray you, misunderstand!  I vas not responsible—­I could not help it.  You both vould come mit me!  No, no, do not look so at me!  I mean not zat—­I mean I could not do vizout both of you.  Ach, Himmel!  Vat do I say?  I should say zat—­zat——­”

He broke off with a start of apprehension.

“Look!  Zere comes a man mit a bicycle!  Zis is too public!  Come mit me into ze station and I shall eggsplain!  He waves his fist!  Come! you vould not be seen here?”

He offered one arm to Eva, the other to Eleanor; and so alarming were the gesticulations of the approaching cyclist, and so beseeching the Baron’s tones, that without more ado they clung to him and hurried on to the platform.

“Come to ze vaiting-room!” he whispered.  “Zere shall ve be safe!”

Alack for the luck of the Baron von Blitzenberg!  Out of the very door they were approaching stepped a solitary lady, sole passenger from the south train, and at the sight of those three, linked arm in arm, she staggered back and uttered a cry more piercing than the engine’s distant whistle.

“Rudolph!” cried this lady.

“Alicia!” gasped the Baron.

His rescuers said nothing, but clung to him the more tightly, while in the Baroness’s startled eyes a harder light began to blaze.

“Who are these, Rudolph?”

He cleared his throat, but the process seemed to take some time, and in the meanwhile he felt the grip of his deliverers relax.

“Who is that lady?” demanded Eleanor.

“His wife,” replied the Baroness.

The Baron felt his arms freed now; but still his Alicia waited an answer.  It came at last, but not from the Baron’s lips.