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.
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