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see over there. If you go across, you're almost sure to meet Dr. Ransford."

"I'm much obliged to you," said the stranger. "Thank you."

He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and Bryce went back—only to go out again and call after him.

"If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?" he asked. "And—what name?"

The stranger shook his head.

"It's immaterial," he answered. "I'll see him—somewhere—or later. Many thanks."

He went on his way towards Paradise, and Bryce returned to the surgery and completed his preparations for departure. And in the course of things, he more than once looked through the window into the garden and saw Mary Bewery still walking and talking with young Sackville Bonham.

"No," he muttered to himself. "I won't trouble to exchange any farewells—not because of Ransford's hint, but because there's no need. If Ransford thinks he's going to drive me out of Wrychester before I choose to go he's badly mistaken—it'll be time enough to say farewell when I take my departure—and that won't be just yet. Now I wonder who that old chap was? Knew some one of Ransford's name once, did he? Probably Ransford himself—in which case he knows more of Ransford than anybody in Wrychester knows—for nobody in Wrychester knows anything beyond a few years back. No, Dr. Ransford!—no farewells—to anybody! A mere departure—till I turn up again."

But Bryce was not to get away from the old house