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 of derailment, the latter contingency being the more probable. Also the most alarming, because the stranded passengers had had to wait for three-quarters of an hour at the side of the line in the dark, at a remote spot surrounded by woods.

“Humph! It looks very much as if they’d got him this time,” was the General’s final comment. And he straightway walked over to the sideboard and poured himself out a glass of wine, motioning his nephew to join him. The action was significant of conclusiveness, and seemed to say that, doom having overtaken the Duke, there was nothing more to be done. The old gentleman drank his wine slowly, then turned to Forsyth with the fierce exclamation:

“First time Jem Sadgrove was ever beaten by a woman. Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, or whatever she may choose to call herself, has scored a record.”

“Mrs. Talmage Eglinton! What on earth has she got to do with it?’ was Forsyth’s astounded rejoinder.

A good deal, it appeared, according to the view which the General had contrived to piece together, and which, leaning against the side-