“No, three or four miles away, I fancy.  I shall have to inquire when I get there.”

“And after you find him what will you do?”

“If I get their address, I shall go straight from Mr. Wynter to them, wherever they are.”

“At St. Petersburg, perhaps, or Constantinople?”

“Don’t, Louisa, please.  I thought you had some pity for one’s perplexities.”

“So I have.  And I believe, myself, that they are in Paris.”

“I wish they may be—­that is, if I get any satisfaction from my inquiries.  Otherwise, Paris is not exactly a place where one would choose to set about seeking for a lost friend, especially with about half-a-dozen sentences of available French.”

“Never fear.  But if you should not find them, I would not mind going over for a week or two to help you; I should be of some use as an interpreter.”

“Will you come?  Not for that; but if I do find them, I should so like to introduce Lucia to you.”

“To tell the truth, I am rather afraid of this paragon of yours; and you will be bringing her to see me.”

“I am afraid I am making too sure of that without your telling me so.  After all, I may have my search for nothing.  I do wish very much you would come over.”

“Well, at Easter we will see.  Perhaps I may coax Sir John over for a week or two.”

“Thank you.  I shall depend on that.”

“But remember you must send me word how you fare.”

“I will write the moment I have anything to tell.”

“Impress upon your father, Maurice, that we wish to do all we can for his comfort.  I wish he would have come to us.”

“I think he is better here.  Everything here reminds him of my mother, and he feels at home.  But I shall feel that I leave him in your hands, my kind cousin.”

Maurice bade his father good-bye that night, and early next morning he started on his journey to Chester.  What a journey it was!  His account to Lady Dighton had been exaggerated certainly, but was not without foundation.  Again and again he found himself left behind, chafing and restless, by some train which had carried him for, perhaps, an hour, and obliged to amuse himself as best he could until a fresh one came, in which he would travel another equally short stage.  It was a windy, rainy day, with gleams of sunshine, but more of cloud and shower, and grew more and more stormy as it drew towards night.  Before he reached Chester the wind had risen to a storm, and sheets of rain were being dashed fiercely against the carriage windows.  At last they did roll into the station with as much noise and importance as if delay had been a thing undreamt of, on that line at any rate; and Maurice hurried off to make his inquiries, and find a carriage to take him to Mr. Wynter’s.

So far, certainly, he prospered.  He found that his destination was between four and five miles from the city, but it was perfectly well known, and a carriage was soon ready to take him on.