By the messenger, he despatched a reply.  He would be at Weymouth as soon as possible.

He incurred the risk of appearing to run away; but that mattered little.  Sibyl could hardly return before her mother’s burial, and by going yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably the certainty, of arrest before any possible meeting with her in London.  Dreading this more than ever, he made ready in a few minutes; the telegraph boy had hardly left the building before Hugh followed.  A glance at the timetables had shown him that, if he travelled by the Great-Western, he could reach Weymouth at five minutes past four; whereas the first train he could catch at Waterloo would not bring him to his destination until half an hour later; on the other hand, he could get away from London by the South-Western forty minutes sooner than by the other line, and this decided him.  Yesterday, Waterloo had been merely the more convenient station on account of his business in town; today he chose it because he had to evade arrest on a charge of homicide.  So comforted was he by the news from Sibyl, that he could reflect on this joke of destiny, and grimly smile at it.

At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and immediately sent a message to Sibyl.  Before her arrival he had swallowed meat and drink.  He waited for her in a private room, which looked seaward.  The sight of the blue Channel, the smell of salt breezes, made his heart ache.  He was standing at the window, watching a steamer that had just left port, when Sibyl entered; he turned and looked at her in silence.

‘What are these mysterious movements?’ she asked, coming forward with a smile.  ‘Why did you alter your mind yesterday?’

‘I wasn’t well.’

He could say nothing more, yet.  Sibyl’s face was so tranquil, and she seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to utter any alarming word; and the more he searched her countenance, the more detestable did it seem that he should insult her by the semblance of a doubt.

’Not well?  Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts.  How long had I been gone when you got home again?’

’An hour or two.  But tell me first about your mother.  She died before you came?’

‘Very soon after they sent the telegram.’

Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the circumstances; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died intestate.

‘You are quite sure of that?’ asked Hugh, with an eagerness which surprised her.

’Quite.  Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and said that she must make her will.  And she had spoken of it several times lately.  The people there knew all about her affairs.  She kept putting it off —­ and as likely as not she wished the money to be mine, after all.  I am sure she must have felt that she owed me something.’