Alice Vavasor returned to London with her father, leaving Kate at Vavasor Hall with her grandfather. The journey was not a pleasant one. Mr. Vavasor knew that it was his duty to do something,--to take some steps with the view of preventing the marriage which his daughter meditated; but he did not know what that something should be, and he did know that, whatever it might be, the doing of it would be thoroughly disagreeable. When they started from Vavasor he had as yet hardly spoken to her a word upon the subject. "I cannot congratulate you," he had simply said. "I hope the time may come, papa, when you will," Alice had answered; and that had been all.

Alice Vavasor returned to London with her father, leaving Kate at Vavasor Hall. The journey was not a pleasant one. Mr. Vavasor knew that he ought to do something to prevent his daughter marrying George Vavasor; but he did not know what that something should be, although he did know that doing it would be thoroughly disagreeable.

Chapter 34: Mr. Vavasor Speaks to His Daughter


The squire had promised that he would consent to a reconciliation with his grandson, if Alice's father would express himself satisfied with the proposed marriage. John Vavasor had certainly expressed nothing of the kind. "I think so badly of him," he had said, speaking to the old man of George, "that I would rather know that almost any other calamity was to befall her, than that she should be united to him." Then the squire, with his usual obstinacy, had taken up the cudgels on behalf of his grandson; and had tried to prove that the match after all would not be so bad in its results as his son seemed to expect. "It would do very well for the property," he said. "I would settle the estate on their eldest son, so that he could not touch it; and I don't see why he shouldn't reform as well as another." John Vavasor had then declared that George was thoroughly bad, that he was an adventurer; that he believed him to be a ruined man, and that he would never reform. The squire upon this had waxed angry, and in this way George obtained aid and assistance down at the old house, which he certainly had no right to expect. When Alice wished her grandfather good-bye the old man gave her a message to his grandson. "You may tell him," said he, "that I will never see him again unless he begs my pardon for his personal bad conduct to me, but that if he marries you, I will take care that the property is properly settled upon his child and yours. I shall always be glad to see you, my dear; and for your sake, I will see him if he will humble himself to me." There was no word spoken then about her father's consent; and Alice, when she left Vavasor, felt that the squire was rather her friend than her enemy in regard to this thing which she contemplated. That her father was and would be an uncompromising enemy to her,--uncompromising though probably not energetical,--she was well aware; and, therefore, the journey up to London was not comfortable.

The squire had promised that he would consent to a reconciliation with his grandson, if Alice's father would say he was satisfied with the marriage. But John Vavasor had said nothing of the kind.
"I think so badly of George," he had said, "that I would rather almost any other calamity happened to her, than that she should marry him." Then the squire, with his usual obstinacy, had argued on his grandson's side.
"It would do very well for the property," he said. "I would settle the estate on their eldest son, so that he could not touch it; and I don't see why he shouldn't reform."
John Vavasor had declared that George was thoroughly bad, and would never reform. The squire had grown angry. When Alice wished him goodbye, the old man gave her a message to his grandson.
"You may tell him," said he, "that I will never see him again unless he begs my pardon for his bad conduct to me, but that if he marries you, I will take care that the property is properly settled upon your child. I shall always be glad to see you, my dear."
Alice felt that the squire was her friend rather than her enemy in the matter. However she was well aware that her father was an uncompromising enemy, so the journey up to London was not comfortable.


Alice had resolved, with great pain to herself, that in this matter she owed her father no obedience. "There cannot be obedience on one side," she said to herself, "without protection and support on the other." Now it was quite true that John Vavasor had done little in the way of supporting or protecting his daughter. Early in life, before she had resided under the same roof with him in London, he had, as it were, washed his hands of all solicitude regarding her; and having no other ties of family, had fallen into habits of life which made it almost impossible for him to live with her as any other father would live with his child. Then, when there first sprang up between them that manner of sharing the same house without any joining together of their habits of life, he had excused himself to himself by saying that Alice was unlike other girls, and that she required no protection. Her fortune was her own, and at her own disposal. Her character was such that she showed no inclination to throw the burden of such disposal on her father's shoulders. She was steady, too, and given to no pursuits which made it necessary that he should watch closely over her. She was a girl, he thought, who could do as well without surveillance as with it,--as well, or perhaps better. So it had come to pass that Alice had been the free mistress of her own actions, and had been left to make the most she could of her own hours. It cannot be supposed that she had eaten her lonely dinners in Queen Anne Street night after night, week after week, month after month, without telling herself that her father was neglecting her. She could not perceive that he spent every evening in society, but never an evening in her society, without feeling that the tie between her and him was not the strong bond which usually binds a father to his child. She was well aware that she had been ill-used in being thus left desolate in her home. She had uttered no word of complaint; but she had learned, without being aware that she was doing so, to entertain a firm resolve that her father should not guide her in her path through life. In that affair of John Grey they had both for a time thought alike, and Mr. Vavasor had believed that his theory with reference to Alice had been quite correct. She had been left to herself, and was going to dispose of herself in a way than which nothing could be more eligible. But evil days were now coming, and Mr. Vavasor, as he travelled up to London, with his daughter seated opposite to him in the railway carriage, felt that now, at last, he must interfere. In part of the journey they had the carriage to themselves, and Mr. Vavasor thought that he would begin what he had to say; but he put it off till others joined them, and then there was no further opportunity for such conversation as that which would be necessary between them. They reached home about eight in the evening, having dined on the road. "She will be tired to-night," he said to himself, as he went off to his club, "and I will speak to her to-morrow." Alice specially felt his going on this evening. When two persons had together the tedium of such a journey as that from Westmoreland up to London, there should be some feeling between them to bind them together while enjoying the comfort of the evening. Had he stayed and sat with her at her tea-table, Alice would at any rate have endeavoured to be soft with him in any discussion that might have been raised; but he went away from her at once, leaving her to think alone over the perils of the life before her. "I want to speak to you after breakfast to-morrow," he said as he went out. Alice answered that she should be there,--as a matter of course. She scorned to tell him that she was always there,--always alone at home. She had never uttered a word of complaint, and she would not begin now.

She had resolved, with great pain to herself, that in this matter she owed her father no obedience.
"There cannot be obedience on one side," she said to herself, "without protection and support on the other." It was quite true that John Vavasor had done little to support or protect his daughter. Early in life, before she had come to live with him, he had, as it were, washed his hands of her upbringing. Then, when they first shared the same house, he did not attempt to change his bachelor ways, telling himself that Alice was unlike other girls, and that she required no protection. She was steady and independently minded, and he thought she needed no surveillance.
So Alice had been left to make the most she could of her own hours. She had eaten her lonely dinners in Queen Anne Street night after night, week after week, month after month; and when he spent every evening in society, but never an evening in her society, she could not help feeling that she lacked the strong bond which usually binds a father to his child. She had uttered no word of complaint; but she had learned to resolve that her father should not guide her in her path through life.
In that affair of John Grey they had both for a time thought alike, and Mr. Vavasor had been content to leave her alone. But now, as he sat opposite his daughter in the railway carriage, he felt that he must interfere. However, he put off speaking, and then others joined them in the carriage, and he could not say what he felt necessary. They reached home about eight in the evening, having dined on the road.
"She will be tired tonight," he said to himself, as he went off to his club, "and I will speak to her tomorrow." Alice specially felt his going out on this evening. If he had stayed and sat with her at the tea-table, she would have endeavoured to be soft with him in any discussion; but he went at once.
"I want to speak to you after breakfast tomorrow," he said as he went out. Alice answered that she should be there. She scorned to tell him that she was always there, always alone at home. She had never complained, and she would not begin now.


The discussion after breakfast the next day was commenced with formal and almost ceremonial preparation. The father and daughter breakfasted together, with the knowledge that the discussion was coming. It did not give to either of them a good appetite, and very little was said at table.

The discussion the next day began with formal and almost ceremonial preparation.


"Will you come up-stairs?" said Alice, when she perceived that her father had finished his tea.


"Perhaps that will be best," said he. Then he followed her into the drawing-room in which the fire had just been lit.

"Perhaps that will be best," said he, and followed her into the drawing-room.


"Alice," said he, "I must speak to you about this engagement of yours."

"Alice, I must speak to you about this engagement."


"Won't you sit down, papa? It does look so dreadful, your standing up over one in that way." He had placed himself on the rug with his back to the incipient fire, but now, at her request, he sat himself down opposite to her.

"Won't you sit down, papa? It does look so dreadful, your standing up over one in that way." He had stood with his back to the fire, but now he sat down.


"I was greatly grieved when I heard of this at Vavasor."

"I was greatly grieved when I heard of this."


"I am sorry that you should be grieved, papa."


"I was grieved. I must confess that I never could understand why you treated Mr. Grey as you have done."


"Oh, papa, that's done and past. Pray let that be among the bygones."


"Does he know yet of your engagement with your cousin?"

"Does Mr. Grey know yet of your engagement with your cousin?"


"He will know it by this time to-morrow."

"He will know it by this time tomorrow."


"Then I beg of you, as a great favour, to postpone your letter to him." To this Alice made no answer. "I have not troubled you with many such requests, Alice. Will you tell me that this one shall be granted?"

"Then I beg of you to postpone your letter to him."


"I think that I owe it to him as an imperative duty to let him know the truth."

"I think it is my duty to let him know the truth."


"But you may change your mind again." Alice found that this was hard to bear and hard to answer; but there was a certain amount of truth in the grievous reproach conveyed in her father's words, which made her bow her neck to it. "I have no right to say that it is impossible," she replied, in words that were barely audible.

"But you may change your mind again."
Alice found that this was hard to bear; but there was a certain amount of truth in it which made her bow her head. "I have no right to say that it is impossible," she replied, in words that were barely audible.


"No;--exactly so," said her father. "And therefore it will be better that you should postpone any such communication."

"Exactly so," said her father. "Therefore it will be better that you should postpone your letter."


"Till you and I shall have agreed together that he should be told."


"No, papa; I will not consent to that. I consider myself bound to let him know the truth without delay. I have done him a great injury, and I must put an end to that as soon as possible."


"You have done him an injury certainly, my dear;--a very great injury," said Mr. Vavasor, going away from his object about the proposed letter; "and I believe he will feel it as such to the last day of his life, if this goes on."

"You have done him a very great injury certainly, my dear," said Mr. Vavasor; "and I believe he will feel it to the last day of his life."


"I hope not. I believe that it will not be so. I feel sure that it will not be so."


"But of course what I am thinking of now is your welfare,--not his. When you simply told me that you intended to--." Alice winced, for she feared to hear from her father that odious word which her grandfather had used to her; and indeed the word had been on her father's lips, but he had refrained and spared her--"that you intended to break your engagement with Mr. Grey," he continued, "I said little or nothing to you. I would not ask you to marry any man, even though you had yourself promised to marry him. But when you tell me that you are engaged to your cousin George, the matter is very different. I do not think well of your cousin. Indeed I think anything but well of him. It is my duty to tell you that the world speaks very ill of him." He paused, but Alice remained silent. "When you were about to travel with him," he continued, "I ought perhaps to have told you the same. But I did not wish to pain you or his sister; and, moreover, I have heard worse of him since then,--much worse than I had heard before."

"But of course I am thinking now of your welfare, not his. When you simply told me that you intended to break your engagement, I said little or nothing. I would not ask you to marry any man. But when you tell me that you are engaged to your cousin George, the matter is very different. I do not think well of your cousin. Indeed I must tell you that the world speaks very ill of him." He paused, but Alice remained silent. "When you were about to travel with him," he continued, "I ought perhaps to have told you. But I did not wish to pain you or his sister; and since then, I have heard much worse of him than I had heard before.


"As you did not tell me before, I think you might spare me now," said Alice.


"No, my dear; I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself without telling you that you are doing so. If it were not for your money he would never think of marrying you."


"Of that I am well aware," said Alice. "He has told me so himself very plainly."

"Of that I am well aware," said Alice. "He has told me so very plainly."


"Certainly I will. It seems to me, papa, that there is a great deal of false feeling about this matter of money in marriage,--or rather, perhaps, a great deal of pretended feeling. Why should I be angry with a man for wishing to get that for which every man is struggling? At this point of George's career the use of money is essential to him. He could not marry without it."

"Certainly. Why should I be angry with a man for wishing to get the money for which every man is struggling? At this point of George's career money is essential to him. He could not marry without it."


"You had better then give him your money without yourself," said her father, speaking in irony.

"Then you had better give him your money without yourself," said her father, speaking in irony.


"That is just what I mean to do, papa," said Alice.


"What!" said Mr. Vavasor, jumping up from his seat. "You mean to give him your money before you marry him?"

"What!" said Mr. Vavasor, jumping up. "You mean to give him your money before you marry him?"


"Certainly I do;--if he should want it;--or, I should rather say, as much as he may want of it."

"Certainly I do, if he wants it - or some of it."


"Heavens and earth!" exclaimed Mr. Vavasor. "Alice, you must be mad."


"To part with my money to my friend?" said she. "It is a kind of madness of which I need not at any rate be ashamed."

"To give money to my friend?" said she. "It is a kind of madness of which I need not be ashamed."


"Tell me this, Alice; has he got any of it as yet?"


"Not a shilling. Papa, pray do not look at me like that. If I had no thought of marrying him you would not call me mad because I lent to my cousin what money he might need."

"Not a shilling. Papa, pray do not look at me like that. If I had no thought of marrying him you would not call me mad because I lent money to my cousin."


"I should only say that so much of your fortune was thrown away, and if it were not much that would be an end of it. I would sooner see you surrender to him the half of all you have, without any engagement to marry him, than know that he had received a shilling from you under such a promise."

"I should say that so much of your fortune was thrown away.


"Was it prejudice that made you reject him once before? Did you condemn him then through prejudice? Had you not ascertained that he was altogether unworthy of you?"

When you rejected him before, did you not see that he was altogether unworthy of you?"


"We were both younger, then," said Alice, speaking very softly, but very seriously. "We were both much younger then, and looked at life with other eyes than those which we now use. For myself I expected much then, which I now seem hardly to regard at all; and as for him, he was then attached to pleasures to which I believe he has now learned to be indifferent."

"We were both younger then," said Alice, speaking softly, but very seriously. "We looked at life with different eyes. I expected much then, which I now seem hardly to regard at all; and he was attached to pleasures to which he has now learned to be indifferent."


"I can only speak as I believe," continued Alice. "And I think I may perhaps know more of his manner of life than you do, papa. But I am prepared to run risks now which I feared before. Even though he were all that you think him to be, I would still endeavour to do my duty to him, and to bring him to other things."

"I can only say what I believe," continued Alice. "And I think I know more of his way of life than you do, papa. But I am prepared to run risks now which I feared before. Even if he were all that you think, I would still try to do my duty to him, and to bring him to other things."


"What is it you expect to get by marrying him?" asked Mr. Vavasor.


"A husband whose mode of thinking is congenial to my own," answered Alice. "A husband who proposes to himself a career in life with which I can sympathize. I think that I may perhaps help my cousin in the career which he has chosen, and that alone is a great reason why I should attempt to do so."

"A husband whose mode of thinking is congenial to my own," answered Alice. "A husband who proposes to build a career with which I can sympathize, and perhaps help."


"With your money?" said Mr. Vavasor with a sneer.


"Partly with my money," said Alice, disdaining to answer the sneer. "Though it were only with my money, even that would be something."


"Well, Alice, as your father, I can only implore you to pause before you commit yourself to his hands. If he demands money from you, and you are minded to give it to him, let him have it in moderation. Anything will be better than marrying him. I know that I cannot hinder you; you are as much your own mistress as I am my own master,--or rather a great deal more, as my income depends on my going to that horrid place in Chancery Lane. But yet I suppose you must think something of your father's wishes and your father's opinion. It will not be pleasant for you to stand at the altar without my being there near you."

"Well, Alice, I can only implore you to pause before you commit yourself to his hands. If he demands money from you, give it to him in moderation. Anything will be better than marrying him. I know that I cannot stop you; you are your own mistress. But I suppose you must think something of your father's opinion. It will not be pleasant for you to stand at the altar without me."


To this Alice made no answer; but she told herself that it had not been pleasant to her to have stood at so many places during the last four years,--and to have found herself so often alone,--without her father being near to her. That had been his fault, and it was not now in her power to remedy the ill-effects of it.

To this Alice made no answer; but she told herself that it had not been pleasant to have stood at so many places during the last four years alone, without her father.


"Has any day been fixed between you and him?" he asked.


"Yes; something has been said. I have told him that it cannot be for a year yet. It is because I told him that, that I told him also that he should have my money when he wanted it."

I have told him that it cannot be for a year yet, although I told him also that he should have my money when he wanted it."


"I don't suppose he will need it all. He intends to stand again for Chelsea, and it is the great expense of the election which makes him want money. You are not to suppose that he has asked me for it. When I made him understand that I did not wish to marry quite yet, I offered him the use of that which would be ultimately his own."

"I don't suppose he will need it all. He intends to stand again for Chelsea, and it is the expense of the election which makes him need money. He has not asked me for it. I offered him the use of it."


"He answered me just as I had intended,--that when the need came he would take me at my word."

"He answered that when the need came he would take me at my word."


"Then, Alice, I will tell you what is my belief. He will drain you of every shilling of your money, and when that is gone, there will be no more heard of the marriage. We must take a small house in some cheap part of the town and live on my income as best we may. I shall go and insure my life, so that you may not absolutely starve when I die." Having said this, Mr. Vavasor went away, not immediately to the insurance office, as his words seemed to imply, but to his club where he sat alone, reading the newspaper, very gloomily, till the time came for his afternoon rubber of whist, and the club dinner bill for the day was brought under his eye.

"Then, Alice, I will tell you what I believe. He will drain you of every shilling, and when that is gone, there will be no more heard of the marriage. We must take a small house in some cheap part of the town and live on my income as best we may. I shall go and insure my life, so that you may not starve when I die." Having said this, Mr. Vavasor went away, not to the insurance office, but to his club where he sat reading the newspaper, very gloomily, till the time came for whist and dinner.


Alice had no such consolations in her solitude. She had fought her battle with her father tolerably well, but she was now called upon to fight a battle with herself, which was one much more difficult to win. Was her cousin, her betrothed as she now must regard him, the worthless, heartless, mercenary rascal which her father painted him? There had certainly been a time, and that not very long distant, in which Alice herself had been almost constrained so to regard him. Since that any change for the better in her opinion of him had been grounded on evidence given either by himself or by his sister Kate. He had done nothing to inspire her with any confidence, unless his reckless daring in coming forward to contest a seat in Parliament could be regarded as a doing of something. And he had owned himself to be a man almost penniless; he had spoken of himself as being utterly reckless,--as being one whose standing in the world was and must continue to be a perch on the edge of a precipice, from which any accident might knock him headlong. Alice believed in her heart that this last profession or trade to which he had applied himself, was becoming as nothing to him,--that he received from it no certain income;--no income that a man could make to appear respectable to fathers or guardians when seeking a girl in marriage. Her father declared that all men spoke badly of him. Alice knew her father to be an idle man, a man given to pleasure, to be one who thought by far too much of the good things of the world; but she had never found him to be either false or malicious. His unwonted energy in this matter was in itself evidence that he believed himself to be right in what he said.

Alice had no such consolations in her solitude. She had fought her battle with her father, but she now had to fight a battle with herself. Was her cousin - her betrothed - the worthless, heartless, mercenary rascal which her father painted him? There had certainly been a time when Alice herself had almost felt so. Any change for the better in her opinion of him had been grounded on evidence given either by himself or by his sister Kate. He had done nothing to inspire her with any confidence. He had admitted that he was almost penniless; he had spoken of himself as being utterly reckless. Her father declared that all men spoke badly of him. Alice knew her father to be an idle man, but she had never found him to be false or malicious. He believed in what he said.


To tell the truth, Alice was frightened at what she had done, and almost repented of it already. Her acceptance of her cousin's offer had not come of love;--nor had it, in truth, come chiefly of ambition. She had not so much asked herself why she should do this thing, as why she should not do it,--seeing that it was required of her by her friend. What after all did it matter? That was her argument with herself. It cannot be supposed that she looked back on the past events of her life with any self-satisfaction. There was no self-satisfaction, but in truth there was more self-reproach than she deserved. As a girl she had loved her cousin George passionately, and that love had failed her. She did not tell herself that she had been wrong when she gave him up, but she thought herself to have been most unfortunate in the one necessity. After such an experience as that, would it not have been better for her to have remained without further thought of marriage?

To tell the truth, Alice was frightened at what she had done, and almost repented of it already. Her acceptance of her cousin's offer had not come of love; nor even of ambition. She had not so much asked herself why she should do this thing, as why should she not do it? Her friend wished it, and after all what did it matter? That was her argument with herself.
It cannot be supposed that she looked back on her past life with any self-satisfaction. In truth she felt more self-reproach than she deserved. As a girl she had loved her cousin George passionately, and that love had failed. After that, would it not have been better for her to have remained without further thought of marriage?


Then came that terrible episode in her life for which she never could forgive herself. She had accepted Mr. Grey because she liked him and honoured him. "And I did love him," she said to herself, now on this morning. Poor, wretched, heart-wrung woman! As she sat there thinking of it all in her solitude she was to be pitied at any rate, if not to be forgiven. Now, as she thought of Nethercoats, with its quiet life, its gardens, its books, and the peaceful affectionate ascendancy of him who would have been her lord and master, her feelings were very different from those which had induced her to resolve that she would not stoop to put her neck beneath that yoke. Would it not have been well for her to have a master who by his wisdom and strength could save her from such wretched doubtings as these? But she had refused to bend, and then she had found herself desolate and alone in the world.

Then came that terrible episode in her life for which she never could forgive herself. She had accepted Mr. Grey because she liked him and honoured him.
"And I did love him," she said to herself now. Poor heart-wrung woman! As she thought of Nethercoats, with its quiet life, its gardens, its books, and the peaceful affectionate ascendancy of its master, her feelings were very different from those which had made her resolve not to put her neck beneath that yoke. Would it not have been well for her to have a master whose wisdom and strength could save her from such wretched doubts as these? But she had refused to bend, and had found herself desolate and alone in the world.


"If I can do him good why should I not marry him?" In that feeling had been the chief argument which had induced her to return such an answer as she had sent to her cousin. "For myself, what does it matter? As to this life of mine and all that belongs to it, why should I regard it otherwise than to make it of some service to some one who is dear to me?" He had been ever dear to her from her earliest years. She believed in his intellect, even if she could not believe in his conduct. Kate, her friend, longed for this thing. As for that dream of love, it meant nothing; and as for those arguments of prudence,--that cold calculation about her money, which all people seemed to expect from her,--she would throw it to the winds. What if she were ruined! There was always the other chance. She might save him from ruin, and help him to honour and fortune.

"If I can do him good why should I not marry him?" That had been the chief argument which had induced her to accept George Vavasor. "For myself, what does it matter? At least I can make my life of some use to someone who is dear to me."
He had always been dear to her from her earliest years. She believed in his intellect, even if she could not believe in his conduct. As for that dream of love, it meant nothing. And what if she were ruined! She might save him from ruin, and help him to honour and fortune.


But then, when the word was once past her lips, there returned to her that true woman's feeling which made her plead for a long day,--which made her feel that that long day would be all too short,--which made her already dread the coming of the end of the year. She had said that she would become George Vavasor's wife, but she wished that the saying so might be the end of it. When he came to her to embrace her how should she receive him? The memory of John Grey's last kiss still lingered on her lips. She had told herself that she scorned the delights of love; if it were so, was she not bound to keep herself far from them; if it were so,--would not her cousin's kiss pollute her?

But she already dreaded the coming of the end of the year. She had said that she would become George Vavasor's wife, but she wished that saying so might be the end of it. When he came to embrace her how should she receive him? The memory of John Grey's last kiss still lingered on her lips.


"It may be as my father says," she thought. "It may be that he wants my money only; if so, let him have it. Surely when the year is over I shall know." Then a plan formed itself in her head, which she did not make willingly, with any voluntary action of her mind,--but which came upon her as plans do come,--and recommended itself to her in despite of herself. He should have her money as he might call for it,--all of it excepting some small portion of her income, which might suffice to keep her from burdening her father. Then, if he were contented, he should go free, without reproach, and there should be an end of all question of marriage for her.

"It may be as my father says," she thought. "It may be that he wants my money only; if so, let him have it. Surely when the year is over I shall know."
Then a plan formed itself in her head. He should have her money as he might call for it - all of it except some small portion of her income, which might keep her from burdening her father. Then, if he were contented, he should go free, without reproach, and there should be an end of all question of marriage for her.


As she thought of this, and matured it in her mind, the door opened, and the servant announced her cousin George.

As she thought of this, the door opened, and the servant announced her cousin George.


On the following morning everybody was stirring by times at Mr. Palliser's house in Park Lane, and the master of that house yawned no more. There is some life in starting for a long journey, and the life is the stronger and the fuller if the things and people to be carried are numerous and troublesome. Lady Glencora was a little troublesome, and would not come down to breakfast in time. When rebuked on account of this manifest breach of engagement, she asserted that the next train would do just as well; and when Mr. Palliser proved to her, with much trouble, that the next train could not enable them to reach Paris on that day, she declared that it would be much more comfortable to take a week in going than to hurry over the ground in one day. There was nothing she wanted so much as to see Folkestone.

On the following morning Mr. Palliser yawned no more. There is some life in starting a long journey, and the life is the stronger and fuller if the things and people to be carried are numerous and troublesome. Lady Glencora was a little troublesome, and would not come down to breakfast in time. When rebuked, she asserted that the next train would do just as well; and when Mr. Palliser proved to her, with much trouble, that the next train could not enable them to reach Paris on that day, she declared that it would be much more comfortable to take a week in going than to hurry. There was nothing she wanted so much as to see Folkestone.


"If that is the case, why did not you tell me so before?" said Mr. Palliser, in his gravest voice. "Richard and the carriage went down yesterday, and are already on board the packet."


"If Richard and the carriage are already on board the packet," said Lady Glencora, "of course we must follow them, and we must put off the glories of Folkestone till we come back. Alice, haven't you observed that, in travelling, you are always driven on by some Richard or some carriage, till you feel that you are a slave?"

"If Richard and the carriage are already on board the packet," said Lady Glencora, "of course we must follow them. Alice, haven't you observed that, in travelling, you are always driven on by some Richard or some carriage, till you feel that you are a slave?"


All this was trying to Mr. Palliser; but I think that he enjoyed it, nevertheless, and that he was happy when he found that he did get his freight off from the Pimlico Station in the proper train.

All this was trying to Mr. Palliser; but I think that he enjoyed it, nevertheless, and was happy when he did get his freight off from Pimlico Station in the proper train.


Of course Lady Glencora and Alice were very ill crossing the Channel; of course the two maids were worse than their mistresses; of course the men kept out of their master's way when they were wanted, and drank brandy-and-water with the steward down-stairs; and of course Lady Glencora declared that she would not allow herself to be carried beyond Boulogne that day;--but, nevertheless, they did get on to Paris. Had Mr. Palliser become Chancellor of the Exchequer, as he had once hoped, he could hardly have worked harder than he did work. It was he who found out which carriage had been taken for them, and who put, with his own hands, the ladies' dressing-cases and cloaks on to the seats,--who laid out the novels, which, of course, were not read by the road,--and made preparations as though this stage of their journey was to take them a week, instead of five hours and a half.

Of course Lady Glencora and Alice were very ill crossing the Channel; of course the two maids were worse than their mistresses; of course the men-servants drank brandy-and-water with the steward downstairs; and of course Lady Glencora declared that she would not go beyond Boulogne that day; but, nevertheless, they did get on to Paris. Had Mr. Palliser become Chancellor of the Exchequer, he could hardly have worked harder. It was he who found out which carriage had been reserved for them, and who put the ladies' dressing-cases and cloaks on to the seats, who laid out the novels, and made preparations as though this stage of their journey was to take them a week, instead of five hours and a half.


"Oh, dear! how I have slept!" said Lady Glencora, as they came near to Paris.

"Oh, dear! how I have slept!" said Lady Glencora, as they approached Paris.


"I think you've been tolerably comfortable," said Mr. Palliser, joyfully.

"I think you've been tolerably comfortable," said Mr. Palliser joyfully.


"Since we got out of that horrid boat I have done pretty well. Why do they make the boats so nasty? I'm sure they do it on purpose."


"It would be difficult to make them nice, I suppose?" said Alice.


"It is the sea that makes them uncomfortable," said Mr. Palliser.


"Never mind; we shan't have any more of it for twelve months, at any rate. We can get to the Kurds, Alice, without getting into a packet again. That, to my way of thinking, is the great comfort of the Continent. One can go everywhere without being seasick."

"Never mind; we shan't have any more of it for twelve months, at any rate. We can get to the Kurds, Alice, without getting into a boat again. That is the great comfort of the Continent. One can go everywhere without being seasick."


Mr. Palliser said nothing, but he sighed as he thought of being absent for a whole year. He had said that such was his intention, and would not at once go back from what he himself had said. But how was he to live for twelve months out of the House of Commons? What was he to do with himself, with his intellect and his energy, during all these coming dreary days? And then,--he might have been Chancellor of the Exchequer! He might even now, at this very moment, have been upon his legs, making a financial statement of six hours' duration, to the delight of one-half of the House, and bewilderment of the other, instead of dragging cloaks across that dingy, dull, dirty waiting-room at the Paris Station, in which British subjects are kept in prison while their boxes are being tumbled out of the carriages.

Mr. Palliser said nothing, but he sighed as he thought of being absent for a whole year. He had said that such was his intention. But how was he to live for twelve months out of the House of Commons? What was he to do with himself, with his intellect and his energy, during all these coming dreary days? And he might have been Chancellor of the Exchequer! He might at this very moment have been upon his feet, making a financial statement of six hours' duration, to the delight of one-half of the House, and the bewilderment of the other half, instead of dragging cloaks across that dingy, dirty waiting-room at the Paris Station.


"But we are not to stop here;--are we?" said Lady Glencora, mournfully.


"No, dear;--I have given the keys to Richard. We will go on at once."


"In about half an hour," pleaded Mr. Palliser.


"I suppose we must bear it, Alice?" said Lady Glencora as she got into the carriage that was waiting for her.


Alice thought of the last time in which she had been in that room,--when George and Kate had been with her,--and the two girls had been quite content to wait patiently while their trunks were being examined. But Alice was now travelling with great people,--with people who never spoke of their wealth, or seemed ever to think of it, but who showed their consciousness of it at every turn of their lives. "After all," Alice had said to herself more than once, "I doubt whether the burden is not greater than the pleasure."

Alice thought of the last time in which she had been in that waiting-room, when George and Kate had been with her. But she was now travelling with great people, who never spoke of their wealth, but who showed their consciousness of it at every turn of their lives.
"After all," she said to herself, "I wonder whether the burden is not greater than the pleasure."


They stayed in Paris for a week, and during that time Alice found that she became very intimate with Mr. Palliser. At Matching she had, in truth, seen but little of him, and had known nothing. Now she began to understand his character, and learned how to talk to him, She allowed him to tell her of things in which Lady Glencora resolutely persisted in taking no interest. She delighted him by writing down in a little pocket-book the number of eggs that were consumed in Paris every day, whereas Glencora protested that the information was worth nothing unless her husband could tell her how many of the eggs were good, and how many bad. And Alice was glad to find that a hundred and fifty thousand female operatives were employed in Paris, while Lady Glencora said it was a great shame, and that they ought all to have husbands. When Mr. Palliser explained that that was impossible, because of the redundancy of the female population, she angered him very much by asserting that she saw a great many men walking about who, she was quite sure, had not wives of their own.

They stayed in Paris for a week, and during that time Alice got to know Mr. Palliser well. At Matching she had seen little of him. Now she began to understand his character, and learned how to talk to him. She allowed him to tell her things in which Lady Glencora resolutely took no interest. She delighted him by writing down in a little pocket-book the number of eggs that were consumed in Paris every day, whereas Glencora protested that the information was worthless unless her husband could tell her how many of the eggs were good, and how many bad. And Alice was glad to find that a hundred and fifty thousand female operatives were employed in Paris, while Lady Glencora said it was a great shame, and that they ought to have husbands.


"I do so wish you had married him!" Glencora said to Alice that evening. "You would always have had a pocket-book ready to write down the figures, and you would have pretended to care about the eggs, and the bottles of wine, and the rest of it. As for me, I can't do it. If I see an hungry woman, I can give her my money; or if she be a sick woman, I can nurse her; or if I hear of a very wicked man, I can hate him;--but I cannot take up poverty and crime in the lump. I never believe it all. My mind isn't big enough."

"I do so wish you had married him!" Glencora said to Alice that evening. "You would always have had a pocket-book ready to write down the figures, and you would have pretended to care about the eggs, and the rest of it. I can't do it. If I see a hungry woman, I can give her my money; or if she is a sick woman, I can nurse her; but I cannot take up poverty and crime in the lump. I never believe it all. My mind isn't big enough."


They went into no society at Paris, and at the end of a week were all glad to leave it.

They went into no society at Paris, and at the end of a week were glad to leave.


"I don't know that Baden will be any better," Lady Glencora said; "but, you know, we can leave that again after a bit,--and so we shall go on getting nearer to the Kurds."

"I don't know that Baden will be any better," Lady Glencora said; "but we can leave again after a bit - and get nearer to the Kurds."


To this, Mr. Palliser demurred. "I think we had better make up our mind to stay a month at Baden."

Mr. Palliser demurred. "I think we had better stay a month at Baden.


"But why should we make up our minds at all?" his wife pleaded.


"I like to have a plan," said Mr. Palliser.


"And so do I," said his wife,--"if only for the sake of not keeping it."

"And so do I," said his wife, "if only for the sake of not keeping it."


"There's nothing I hate so much as not carrying out my intentions," said Mr. Palliser.


Upon this, Lady Glencora shrugged her shoulders, and made a mock grimace to her cousin. All this her husband bore for a while meekly, and it must be acknowledged that he behaved very well. But, then, he had his own way in everything. Lady Glencora did not behave very well,--contradicting her husband, and not considering, as, perhaps, she ought to have done, the sacrifice he was making on her behalf. But, then, she had her own way in nothing.

Upon this, Lady Glencora shrugged her shoulders, and made a mock grimace to her cousin. All this her husband bore meekly for a while; he behaved very well. But, then, he had his own way in everything. Lady Glencora did not behave very well - contradicting her husband, and not considering the sacrifice he was making on her behalf. But, then, she had her own way in nothing.


She had her own way in almost nothing; but on one point she did conquer her husband. He was minded to go from Paris back to Cologne, and so down the Rhine to Baden. Lady Glencora declared that she hated the Rhine,--that, of all rivers, it was the most distasteful to her; that, of all scenery, the scenery of the Rhine was the most over-praised; and that she would be wretched all the time if she were carried that way. Upon this, Mr. Palliser referred the matter to Alice; and she, who had last been upon the Rhine with her cousins Kate and George Vavasor, voted for going to Baden by way of Strasbourg.

On one point she did conquer her husband. He intended to go from Paris back to Cologne, and down the Rhine to Baden. Lady Glencora declared that she hated the Rhine, and that she would be wretched if she were taken that way. Mr. Palliser referred the matter to Alice; and she, who had last been upon the Rhine with Kate and George Vavasor, voted for going to Baden by way of Strasbourg.


"We will go by Strasbourg, then," said Mr. Palliser, gallantly.

"We will go by Strasbourg, then," said Mr. Palliser gallantly.


"Not that I want to see that horrid church again," said Glencora.


"Everything is alike horrid to you, I think," said her husband. "You are determined not to be contented, so that it matters very little which way we go."

"Everything is horrid to you, I think," said her husband. "You are determined not to be contented, so that it matters very little which way we go."


"That's the truth," said his wife. "It does matter very little."


They got on to Baden,--with very little delay at Strasbourg, and found half an hotel prepared for their reception. Here the carriage was brought into use for the first time, and the mistress of the carriage talked of sending home for Dandy and Flirt. Mr. Palliser, when he heard the proposition, calmly assured his wife that the horses would not bear the journey. "They would be so out of condition," he said, "as not to be worth anything for two or three months."

They got to Baden, and found half a hotel prepared for their reception. Here the carriage was brought into use for the first time, and Glencora talked of sending home for Dandy and Flirt. Mr. Palliser calmly assured his wife that the horses would not bear the journey.
"They would be so out of condition," he said, "as not to be worth anything for two or three months."


"I only meant to ask for them if they could come in a balloon," said Lady Glencora.


This angered Mr. Palliser, who had really, for a few minutes, thought of pacifying his wife by sending for the horses.

This angered Mr. Palliser, who had really thought of pacifying his wife by sending for the horses.


"Alice," she asked, one morning, "how many eggs are eaten in Baden every morning before ten o'clock?"

"Alice," she asked, one morning, "how many eggs are eaten in Baden every day before ten o'clock?"


Mr. Palliser, who at the moment was in the act of eating one, threw down his spoon, and pushed his plate from him.

Mr. Palliser, who at the moment was eating one, threw down his spoon, and pushed his plate from him.


"What's the matter, Plantagenet?" she asked.


"The matter!" he said. "But never mind; I am a fool to care for it."

"The matter!" he said. "But never mind; I am a fool to care about it."


"I declare I didn't know that I had done anything wrong," said Lady Glencora. "Alice, do you understand what it is?"


Alice said that she did understand very well.

Alice said that she understood very well.


"Of course she understands," said Mr. Palliser. "How can she help it? And, indeed, Miss Vavasor, I am more unhappy than I can express myself, to think that your comfort should be disturbed in this way."

"Of course she understands," said Mr. Palliser. "How can she help it? And, indeed, Miss Vavasor, I am more unhappy than I can express, to think that your comfort should be disturbed in this way."


"Upon my word I think Alice is doing very well," said Lady Glencora. "What is there to hurt her comfort? Nobody scolds her. Nobody tells her that she is a fool. She never jokes, or does anything wicked, and, of course, she isn't punished."

"I think Alice is doing very well," said Lady Glencora. "What is there to hurt her comfort? Nobody scolds her. Nobody tells her that she is a fool. She never jokes, or does anything wicked, and, of course, she isn't punished."


Mr. Palliser, as he wandered that day alone through the gambling-rooms at the great Assembly House, thought that, after all, it might have been better for him to have remained in London, to have become Chancellor of the Exchequer, and to have run all risks.


"I wonder whether it would be any harm if I were to put a few pieces of money on the table, just once?" Lady Glencora said to her cousin, on the evening of the same day, in one of those gambling salons. There had been some music on that evening in one side of the building, and the Pallisers had gone to the rooms. But as neither of the two ladies would dance, they had strayed away into the other apartments.

"I wonder whether it would be any harm if I were to put a few pieces of money on the table, just once?" Lady Glencora said to her cousin that evening, in one of those gambling salons. There had been some music in one side of the building, and afterwards the ladies had strayed away into the other apartments.


"The greatest harm in the world!" said Alice; "and what on earth could you gain by it? You don't really want any of those horrid people's money?"

"The greatest harm in the world!" said Alice; "and what on earth could you gain by it?"


"I'll tell you what I want,--something to live for,--some excitement. Is it not a shame that I see around me so many people getting amusement, and that I can get none? I'd go and sit out there, and drink beer and hear the music, only Plantagenet wouldn't let me. I think I'll throw one piece on to the table to see what becomes of it."

"Something to live for - some excitement. Is it not a shame that I see around me so many people getting amusement, and that I can get none? I'd go and sit out there, and drink beer and hear the music, only Plantagenet wouldn't let me. I think I'll throw one piece on to the table to see what becomes of it."


"I shall leave you if you do," said Alice.


"You are such a prude! It seems to me as if it must have been my special fate,--my good fate, I mean,--that has thrown me so much with you. You look after me quite as carefully as Mr. Bott and Mrs. Marsham ever did; but as I chose you myself, I can't very well complain, and I can't very well get rid of you."

"You are such a prude! You look after me quite as carefully as Mr. Bott and Mrs. Marsham ever did; but as I chose you myself, I can't very well complain, and I can't very well get rid of you."


"Sometimes. Do you know, there are moments when I almost make up my mind to go headlong to the devil,--when I think it is the best thing to be done. It's a hard thing for a woman to do, because she has to undergo so much obloquy before she gets used to it. A man can take to drinking, and gambling and all the rest of it, and nobody despises him a bit. The domestic old fogies give him lectures if they can catch him, but he isn't fool enough for that. All he wants is money, and he goes away and has his fling. Now I have plenty of money,--or, at any rate, I had,--and I never got my fling yet. I do feel so tempted to rebel, and go ahead, and care for nothing."

"Sometimes. Do you know, there are moments when I almost make up my mind to go headlong to the devil - when I think it is the best thing to be done. It's a hard thing for a woman to do, because she gets so despised. A man can take to drinking, and gambling and all the rest of it, and nobody despises him a bit. All he needs is money, and he goes away and has his fling. Now I have plenty of money, and I never got my fling yet. I do feel so tempted to rebel, and go ahead, and care for nothing."


"Throwing one piece on to the table wouldn't satisfy that longing."


"You think I should be like the wild beast that has tasted blood, and can't be controlled. Look at all these people here. There are husbands gambling, and their wives don't know it; and wives gambling, and their husbands don't know it. I wonder whether Plantagenet ever has a fling? What a joke it would be to come and catch him!"

"You think I should be like the wild beast that has tasted blood, and can't be controlled? Look at all these people here. There are husbands gambling, and their wives don't know it; and wives gambling, and their husbands don't know it. I wonder whether Plantagenet ever has a fling? What a joke it would be to come and catch him!"


"I don't think you need be afraid of that."


"Afraid! I should like him all the better for it. If he came to me, some morning, and told me that he had lost a hundred thousand pounds, I should be so much more at my ease with him."

"Afraid! I should like him all the better for it. If he came to me some morning, and told me that he had lost a hundred thousand pounds, I should be so much more at my ease with him."


"You have no chance in that direction, I'm quite sure."


"None the least. He'd make a calculation that the chances were nine to seven against him, and then the speculation would seem to him to be madness."

"None the least. He'd make a calculation that the chances were nine to seven against him, and then the speculation would seem madness."


"I don't suppose he'd wish to try, even though he were sure of winning."

"I don't suppose he'd wish to try, even if he were sure of winning."


"Of course not. It would be a very vulgar kind of thing then. Look,--there's an opening there. I'll just put on one napoleon."

"Of course not. Look - there's an opening there. I'll just put on one napoleon."


"You shall not. If you do, I'll leave you at once. Look at the women who are playing. Is there one there whom it would not disgrace you to touch? Look what they are. Look at their cheeks, and their eyes, and their hands. Those men who rake about the money are bad enough, but the women look like fiends."

"You shall not. If you do, I'll leave you at once. Look at the women who are playing. Those men are bad enough, but the women look like fiends."


"You're not going to frighten me in that hobgoblin sort of way, you know. I don't see anything the matter with any of the people."

"You're not going to frighten me in that hobgoblin way, you know. I don't see anything the matter with any of the people."


"What do you think of that young woman who has just got a handful of money from the man next to her?"


"I think she is very happy. I never get money given to me by handfuls, and the man to whom I belong gives me no encouragement when I want to amuse myself." They were now standing near to one end of the table, and suddenly there came to be an opening through the crowd up to the table itself. Lady Glencora, leaving Alice's side, at once stepped up and deposited a piece of gold on one of the marked compartments. As soon as she placed it she retreated again with flushed face, and took hold of Alice's arm. "There," she said, "I have done it." Alice, in her dismay, did not know what step to take. She could not scold her friend now, as the eyes of many were turned upon them, nor could she, of course, leave her, as she had threatened. Lady Glencora laughed with her peculiar little low laughter, and stood her ground. "I was determined you shouldn't frighten me out of it," she said.

"I think she is very happy. I never get money given to me by handfuls, and the man to whom I belong gives me no encouragement when I want to amuse myself."
They were now standing near one end of the table, and suddenly there came to be an opening through the crowd. Lady Glencora at once stepped up and placed a piece of gold on one of the marked compartments.
She retreated again with flushed face, and took hold of Alice's arm.
"There," she said, "I have done it."
Alice, in her dismay, did not know what to do. She could not scold her friend, as many eyes were turned upon them, nor could she, of course, leave her, as she had threatened.
Lady Glencora laughed with her peculiar little low laughter. "I was determined you shouldn't frighten me out of it," she said.


One of the ministers at the table had in the meantime gone on with the cards, and had called the game; and another minister had gently pushed three or four more pieces of gold up to that which Lady Glencora had flung down, and had then cunningly caught her eye, and, with all the courtesy of which he was master, had pushed them further on towards her. She had supposed herself to be unknown there in the salon, but no doubt all the croupiers and half the company knew well enough who was the new customer at the table. There was still the space open, near to which she stood, and then someone motioned to her to come and take up the money which she had won. She hesitated, and then the croupier asked her, in that low, indifferent voice which these men always use, whether she desired that her money should remain. She nodded her head to him, and he at once drew the money back again to the spot on which she had placed the first napoleon. Again the cards were turned up softly, again the game was called, and again she won. The money was dealt out to her,--on this occasion with a full hand. There were lying there between twenty and thirty napoleons, of which she was the mistress. Her face had flushed before, but now it became very red. She caught hold of Alice, who was literally trembling beside her, and tried to laugh again. But there was that in her eye which told Alice that she was really frightened. Some one then placed a chair for her at the table, and in her confusion, not knowing what she was to do, she seated herself. "Come away," said Alice, taking hold of her, and disregarding everything but her own purpose, in the agony of the moment. "You must come away! You shall not sit there!" "I must get rid of that money," said Glencora, trying to whisper her words, "and then I will come away." The croupier again asked her if the money was to remain, and she again nodded her head. Everybody at the table was now looking at her. The women especially were staring at her,--those horrid women with vermilion cheeks, and loud bonnets half off their heads, and hard, shameless eyes, and white gloves, which, when taken off in the ardour of the game, disclosed dirty hands. They stared at her with that fixed stare which such women have, and Alice saw it all, and trembled.

One of the croupiers at the table had in the meantime called the game; and another had gently pushed three or four more pieces of gold up to that which Lady Glencora had flung down, and had then cunningly caught her eye, and had pushed them further towards her. She had supposed herself to be unknown in the salon, but no doubt all the croupiers and half the company knew well enough who she was. Someone motioned to her to come and take up the money which she had won. She hesitated, and then the croupier asked her, in a low, indifferent voice, whether she desired that her money should remain. She nodded and he drew the money back to the spot on which she had placed the first napoleon.
Again the cards were turned up softly, again the game was called, and again she won. The money was dealt out to her - between twenty and thirty napoleons. Her face had flushed before, but now it became very red. She caught hold of Alice, who was literally trembling beside her, and tried to laugh again. But there was that in her eye which told Alice that she was really frightened.
Someone placed a chair for her at the table, and in her confusion, not knowing what to do, she seated herself.
"Come away," said Alice. "You must come away!"
"I must get rid of that money," said Glencora, trying to whisper, "and then I will come away." The croupier again asked her if the money was to remain, and she again nodded. Everybody at the table was now looking at her. The women especially were staring at her with hard, shameless eyes; their white gloves had been removed to show dirty hands. Alice saw it all, and trembled.


Again she won. "Leave it," said Alice, "and come away." "I can't leave it," said Glencora. "If I do, there'll be a fuss. I'll go the next time." What she said was, of course, in English, and was probably understood by no one near her; but it was easy to be seen that she was troubled, and, of course, those around her looked at her the more because of her trouble. Again that little question and answer went on between her and the croupier, and on this occasion the money was piled up on the compartment--a heap of gold which made envious the hearts of many who stood around there. Alice had now both her hands on the back of the chair, needing support. If the devil should persist, and increase that stock of gold again, she must go and seek for Mr. Palliser. She knew not what else to do. She understood nothing of the table, or of its laws; but she supposed all those ministers of the game to be thieves, and believed that all villainous contrivances were within their capacity. She thought that they might go on adding to that heap so long as Lady Glencora would sit there, presuming that they might thus get her into their clutches. Of course, she did not sift her suspicions. Who does at such moments? "Come away at once, and leave it," she said, "or I shall go." At that moment the croupier raked it all up, and carried it all away; but Alice did not see that this had been done. A hand had been placed on her shoulder, and as she turned round her face her eyes met those of Mr. Palliser. "It is all gone," said Glencora, laughing. And now she, turning round, also saw her husband. "I am so glad that you are come," said Alice. "Why did you bring her here?" said Mr. Palliser. There was anger in his tone, and anger in his eye. He took his wife's arm upon his own, and walked away quickly, while Alice followed them alone. He went off at once, down the front steps of the building, towards the hotel. What he said to his wife, Alice did not hear; but her heart was swelling with the ill-usage to which she herself was subjected. Though she might have to go back alone to England, she would tell him that he was ill-treating her. She followed him on, up into their drawing-room, and there he stood with the door open in his hand for her, while Lady Glencora threw herself upon a sofa, and burst out into affected laughter. "Here's a piece of work," she said, "about a little accident."

Again she won.
"Leave it," said Alice, "and come away."
"I can't leave it," said Glencora. "If I do, there'll be a fuss. I'll go the next time." What she said was, of course, in English, but it was easy to see that she was troubled, and, of course, those around her looked at her more because of her trouble. Again that little question and answer went on between her and the croupier, and the money was piled up on the compartment - a heap of gold.
Alice had now both her hands on the back of the chair, needing support. If the devil should persist, and increase that stock of gold again, she must go and seek for Mr. Palliser. She knew not what else to do.
"Come away at once, and leave it," she said, "or I shall go." At that moment the croupier raked it all up, and carried it all away; but Alice did not see this. A hand had been placed on her shoulder, and as she turned round her face her eyes met those of Mr. Palliser.
"It is all gone," said Glencora, laughing. And now she, turning round, also saw her husband.
"I am so glad that you are come," said Alice.
"Why did you bring her here?" said Mr. Palliser. There was anger in his tone, and in his eye. He took his wife's arm, and walked away quickly, while Alice followed them alone. He went down the front steps of the building, towards the hotel. What he said to his wife, Alice did not hear; but her heart was swelling. Though she might have to go back alone to England, she would tell him that he was ill-treating her. She followed him on, up into their drawing-room, and there he stood with the door open, while Lady Glencora threw herself upon a sofa, and burst out into affected laughter.
"Here's a piece of work," she said, "about a little accident."


"Yes, an accident. You don't suppose that I sat down there meaning to win all that money?" Whereupon he looked at her with scorn.


"Mr. Palliser," said Alice, "you have treated me this evening in a manner I did not expect from you. It is clear that you blame me."


"No; you have not said a word. You know well how to show your anger without speaking. As I do not choose to undergo your displeasure, I will return to England by myself."

"No; you know well how to show your anger without speaking. As I do not choose to undergo your displeasure, I will return to England by myself."


"Alice! Alice!" said Glencora, jumping up, "that is nonsense! What is all this trumpery thing about? Leave me, because he chooses to be angry about nothing?"


"Is it nothing that I find my wife playing at a common gambling-table, surrounded by all that is wretched and vile,--established there, seated, with heaps of gold before her?"

"Is it nothing that I find my wife seated and playing at a common gambling-table, surrounded by all that is wretched and vile?"


"You wrong me, Plantagenet," said Glencora. "There was only one heap, and that did not remain long. Did it, Alice?"


"It is impossible to make you ashamed of anything," he said.


"I certainly don't like being ashamed," she answered; "and don't feel any necessity on this occasion."


"If you don't object, Mr. Palliser," said Alice, "I will go to bed. You can think over all this at night,--and so can I. Good night, Glencora." Then Alice took her candle, and marched off to her own room, with all the dignity of which she was mistress.

"If you don't object, Mr. Palliser," said Alice, "I will go to bed. Good night, Glencora." Then she took her candle, and marched off to her own room, with all the dignity of which she was capable.


George when he left the room in which he had insulted the lawyer, went immediately across to the parlour in which his aunt and sister were sitting. "Kate," said he, "put on your hat and come and walk with me. That business is over." Kate's hat and shawl were in the room, and they were out of the house together within a minute.

When George had left the room in which he had insulted the lawyer, he went immediately to the parlour where his aunt and sister were sitting.
"Kate," said he, "put on your hat and come and walk with me. That business is over." They were out of the house together within a minute.


They walked down the carriage-road, through the desolate, untenanted grounds, to the gate, before either of them spoke a word. Kate was waiting for George to tell her of the will, but did not dare to ask any question. George intended to tell her of the will, but was not disposed to do so without some preparation. It was a thing not to be spoken of open-mouthed, as a piece of ordinary news. "Which way shall we go?" said Kate, as soon as they had passed through the old rickety gate, which swung at the entrance of the place. "Up across the fell," said George; "the day is fine, and I want to get away from my uncle for a time." She turned round, therefore, outside the hill of firs, and led the way back to the beacon wood through which she and Alice had walked across to Haweswater upon a memorable occasion. They had reached the top of the beacon hill, and were out upon the Fell, before George had begun his story. Kate was half beside herself with curiosity, but still she was afraid to ask. "Well," said George, when they paused a moment as they stepped over a plank that crossed the boundary ditch of the wood: "don't you want to know what that dear old man has done for you?" Then he looked into her face very steadfastly. "But perhaps you know already," he added. He had come out determined not to quarrel with his sister. He had resolved, in that moment of thought which had been allowed to him, that his best hope for the present required that he should keep himself on good terms with her, at any rate till he had settled what line of conduct he would pursue. But he was, in truth, so sore with anger and disappointment,--he had become so nearly mad with that continued, unappeased wrath in which he now indulged against all the world, that he could not refrain himself from bitter words. He was as one driven by the Furies, and was no longer able to control them in their driving of him.

They walked down the carriage-road, through the desolate grounds to the gate, before either of them spoke a word. Kate did not dare to ask about the will. George intended to tell her, but not without some preparation.
"Which way shall we go?" said Kate, as soon as they had passed through the old rickety gate.
"Up across the fell," said George; "the day is fine, and I want to get away from my uncle for a while."
So she led the way to the wood through which she and Alice had walked across to Haweswater. They had reached the top of the beacon hill, and were out upon the Fell, before George began his story.
"Well," he said as they paused a moment at the boundary of the wood: "don't you want to know what that dear old man has done for you?" Then he looked into her face very steadfastly. "But perhaps you know already." He had come out determined not to quarrel with his sister. He had resolved that his best hope for the present was to keep on good terms with her, at any rate till he had decided what to do. But he was, in truth, so sore with anger and disappointment that he could not refrain himself from bitter words. He was as one driven by the Furies, and was no longer able to control them.


"I know nothing of it," said Kate. "Had I known I should have told you. Your question is unjust to me."

"I know nothing of it," said Kate. "If I had known I should have told you. Your question is unjust."


"I am beginning to doubt," said he, "whether a man can be safe in trusting any one. My grandfather has done his best to rob me of the property altogether."

"I am beginning to doubt," said he, "whether a man can be safe in trusting anyone. My grandfather has done his best to rob me of the property altogether."


"I told you that I feared he would do so."


"He told me distinctly that he would not do that."


"Then, George, I shall do that which I told him I should do in the event of his making such a will; for he asked me the question. I told him I should restore the estate to you, and upon that he swore that he would not leave it to me."

"Then, George, I shall do what I told him I should do if he made such a will; for he asked me the question. I told him I should restore the estate to you, and upon that he swore that he would not leave it to me."


"And what a fool you were," said he, stopping her in the pathway. "What an ass! Why did you tell him that? You knew that he would not, on that account, do justice to me."

"And what a fool you were," said he, stopping her in the path. "What an ass! Why did you tell him that? You knew that meant he would not do justice to me."


"Psha! now you have ruined me, and you might have saved me."


"But I will save you still, if he has left the estate to me. I do not desire to take it from you. As God in heaven sees me, I have never ceased to endeavour to protect your interests here at Vavasor. I will sign anything necessary to make over my right in the property to you." Then they walked on over the Fell for some minutes without speaking. They were still on the same path,--that path which Kate and Alice had taken in the winter,--and now poor Kate could not but think of all that she had said that day on George's behalf;--how had she mingled truth and falsehood in her efforts to raise her brother's character in her cousin's eyes! It had all been done in vain. At this very moment of her own trouble Kate thought of John Grey, and repented of what she had done. Her hopes in that direction were altogether blasted. She knew that her brother had ill-treated Alice, and that she must tell him so if Alice's name were mentioned between them. She could no longer worship her brother, and hold herself at his command in all things. But, as regarded the property to which he was naturally the heir, if any act of hers could give it to him, that act would be done. "If the will is as you say, George, I will make over my right to you."

"But I will save you still, if he has left the estate to me. I do not desire to take it from you. As God in heaven sees me, I have never ceased to protect your interests here at Vavasor. I will sign anything necessary to make over my right in the property to you."
Then they walked on over the Fell for some minutes without speaking. They were on the same path which Kate and Alice had taken in the winter, and now poor Kate could not avoid thinking of all that she had said that day on George's behalf. It had all been in vain. At this very moment of her own trouble Kate thought of John Grey, and repented of what she had done.
She could no longer worship her brother. But, as regarded the property, if she could give it to him, she would. "If the will is as you say, George, I will make over my right to you."


"You can make over nothing," he answered. "The old robber has been too cunning for that; he has left it all in the hands of my uncle John. D---- him. D---- them both."

"You can make over nothing," he answered. "The old robber has been too cunning for that; he has left it all in the hands of my uncle John. D-- them both."


"Dead; of course he is dead. What of that? I wish he had been dead ten years ago,--or twenty. Do you suppose I am to forgive him because he is dead? I'll heap his grave with curses, if that can be of avail to punish him."

"I wish he had been dead ten years ago. Do you suppose I am to forgive him because he is dead? I'll heap his grave with curses.


"You can only punish the living that way."


"And I will punish them;--but not by cursing them. My uncle John shall have such a life of it for the next year or two that he shall bitterly regret the hour in which he has stepped between me and my rights."

And my uncle John shall have such a life of it for the next year or two that he shall bitterly regret the hour in which he has stepped between me and my rights."


"Not done so! What was he down here for at Christmas? Do you pretend to think that that make-believe will was concocted without his knowledge?"

"Not done so! Why was he down here at Christmas? Do you pretend to think that that make-believe will was concocted without his knowledge?"


"I'm sure that he knew nothing of it. I don't think my grandfather's mind was made up a week before he died."


"You'll have to swear that, remember, in a court. I'm not going to let the matter rest, I can tell you. You'll have to prove that. How long is it since he asked you what you would do with the estate if he left it to you?"

"You'll have to swear that, remember, in a court. I'm not going to let the matter rest, I can tell you. How long is it since he asked you what you would do with the estate if he left it to you?"


Kate thought for a moment before she answered. "It was only two days before he died, if I remember rightly."

Kate thought for a moment before she answered. "It was two days before he died, if I remember rightly."


"But you must remember rightly. You'll have to swear to it. And now tell me this honestly; do you believe, in your heart, that he was in a condition fit for making a will?"


"I told him that I thought no man should alter family arrangements when he was so ill."


"Exactly. You told him that. And what did he say?"


"He was very angry, and made me send for Mr. Gogram."


"Now, Kate, think a little before you answer me again. If ever you are to do me a good turn, you must do it now. And remember this, I don't at all want to take anything away from you. Whatever you think is fair you shall have."


He was a fool not to have known her better than that.


"I want nothing," she said, stopping, and stamping with her foot upon the crushed heather. "George, you don't understand what it is to be honest."

"I want nothing," she said, stopping. "George, you don't understand what it is to be honest."


He smiled,--with a slight provoking smile that passed very rapidly from his face. The meaning of the smile was to be read, had Kate been calm enough to read it. "I can't say that I do." That was the meaning of the smile. "Well, never mind about that," said he; "you advised my grandfather not to make his will,--thinking, no doubt, that his mind was not clear enough?"

He smiled, with a slight provoking smile that passed rapidly from his face. The meaning of the smile was to be read, had Kate been calm enough to read it: "I can't say that I do," was what it meant.
"Never mind about that," said he; "you advised my grandfather not to make his will, thinking, no doubt, that his mind was not clear enough?"


She paused a moment again before she answered him. "His mind was clear," she said; "but I thought that he should not trust his judgement while he was so weak."


"Look here, Kate; I do believe that you at any rate have no mind to assist in this robbery. That it is a robbery you can't have any doubt. I said he had left the estate to you. That is not what he has done. He has left the estate to my uncle John."

"Look here, Kate; I believe that you have no wish to assist in this robbery. That it is a robbery you can't doubt. He has left the estate to my uncle John."


"Of course I am; uncle John won't give it you. George, I don't understand you; I don't, indeed."

"Of course I am; uncle John won't give it you. George, I don't understand you."


"Never mind about that, but listen to me. The estate is left in the hands of John Vavasor; but he has left you five hundred a year out of it till somebody is twenty-five years old who is not yet born, and probably never will be born. The will itself shows the old fool to have been mad."

"Listen to me. The estate is left in the hands of John Vavasor; but he has left you five hundred a year out of it till somebody is twenty-five years old who is not yet born, and probably never will be born. The will itself shows the old fool to have been mad."


"He was no more mad than you are, George."


"Listen to me, I tell you. I don't mean that he was a raging maniac. Now, you had advised him not to make any new will because you thought he was not in a fit condition?"


"I hope I may not be called on to do so. I hope there may be no swearing about it. But if I am asked the question I must swear it."

"I hope I may not be called on to do so. But if I am asked the question I must swear it."


"Exactly. Now listen till you understand what it is I mean. That will, if it stands, gives all the power over the estate to John Vavasor. It renders you quite powerless as regards any help or assistance that you might be disposed to give to me. But, nevertheless, your interest under the will is greater than his,--or than that of any one else,--for your son would inherit if I have none. Do you understand?"

"Exactly. Now listen till you understand what it is I mean. That will, if it stands, gives all the power over the estate to John Vavasor. It renders you quite powerless to give me any assistance. But, nevertheless, your interest under the will is greater than his, for your son would inherit if I have no son. Do you understand?"


"And your testimony as to the invalidity of the will would be conclusive against all the world."

"And your testimony about the invalidity of the will would be conclusive against all the world."


"I would say in a court what I have told you, if that will do any good."


"It will not be enough. Look here, Kate; you must be steadfast here; everything depends on you. How often have you told me that you will stick to me throughout life? Now you will be tried."


Kate felt that her repugnance towards him,--towards all that he was doing and wished her to do,--was growing stronger within her at every word he spoke. She was becoming gradually aware that he desired from her something which she could not and would not do, and she was aware also that in refusing him she would have to encounter him in all his wrath. She set her teeth firmly together, and clenched her little fist. If a fight was necessary, she would fight with him. As he looked at her closely with his sinister eyes, her love towards him was almost turned to hatred.

Kate felt that her repugnance towards him was growing stronger at every word he spoke. She was becoming gradually aware that he desired her to do something which she could not and would not do, and she was aware also that in refusing him she would incur all his anger. She set her teeth firmly together, and clenched her little fist. If a fight was necessary, she would fight him. Her love for him was almost turned to hatred.


"But that was what you meant when you advised him not to make the will because you thought his intellect was impaired!"

"You advised him not to make the will because you thought his intellect was impaired!"


"Stop, Kate, stop. If you will think of it, It was so. What is the meaning of his judgement being weak?"

"Stop, Kate, stop. If you will think of it, it was so. What is the meaning of his judgement being weak?"


"But that was what you meant when you advised him not to trust it!"


"Look here, George; I think I know now what you mean. If anybody asks me if his mind was gone, or his intellect deranged, I cannot say that there was anything of the kind."

"Look here, George; if anybody asks me if his mind was gone, or his intellect deranged, I cannot say that there was anything of the kind."


"Then you are determined to throw me over and claim the property for yourself." Again he turned towards and looked at her as though he were resolved to frighten her. "And I am to count you also among my enemies? You had better take care, Kate."

"Then you are determined to throw me over and claim the property for yourself." Again he turned towards and looked at her threateningly. "And I am to count you also among my enemies? You had better take care, Kate."


They were now upon the fell side, more than three miles away from the Hall; and Kate, as she looked round, saw that they were all alone. Not a cottage,--not a sign of humanity was within sight. Kate saw that it was so, and was aware that the fact pressed itself upon her as being of importance. Then she thought again of her resolution to fight with him, if any fight were necessary; to tell him, in so many words, that she would separate herself from him and defy him. She would not fear him, let his words and face be ever so terrible! Surely her own brother would do her no bodily harm. And even though he should do so,--though he should take her roughly by the arm as he had done to Alice,--though he should do worse than that, still she would fight him. Her blood was the same as his, and he should know that her courage was, at any rate, as high.

They were now more than three miles away from the Hall; and Kate, as she looked round, saw that they were all alone. Not a cottage - not a sign of humanity was within sight. She thought again of her resolution to fight him, if any fight were necessary; to tell him that she would separate herself from him and defy him. She would not fear him, let his words and face be ever so terrible! Surely her own brother would do her no bodily harm. And even if he did, still she would fight him. Her blood was the same as his, and he should know that her courage was, at any rate, as high.


And, indeed, when she looked at him, she had cause to fear. He intended that she should fear. He intended that she should dread what he might do to her at that moment. As to what he would do he had no resolve made. Neither had he resolved on anything when he had gone to Alice and had shaken her rudely as she sat beside him. He had been guided by no fixed intent when he had attacked John Grey, or when he insulted the attorney; but a Fury was driving him, and he was conscious of being so driven. He almost wished to be driven to some act of frenzy. Everything in the world had gone against him, and he desired to expend his rage on some one.

And, indeed, when she looked at him, she had cause to fear. He intended her to fear. He intended her to dread what he might do to her. He had not decided what he would do; but a Fury was driving him, and he almost wished to be driven to some act of frenzy. Everything in the world had gone against him, and he desired to expend his rage on some one.


"Kate," said he, stopping her, "we will have this out here, if you please. So much, at any rate, shall be settled to-day. You have made many promises to me, and I have believed them. You can now keep them all, by simply saying what you know to be the truth,--that that old man was a drivelling idiot when he made this will. Are you prepared to do me that justice? Think before you answer me, for, by G----, if I cannot have justice among you, I will have revenge." And he put his hand upon her breast up near to her throat.

"Kate," said he, "we will have this out here, if you please. You have made many promises to me, and I have believed them. You can now keep them all, by simply saying what you know to be the truth - that that old man was a drivelling idiot when he made this will. Are you prepared to do me that justice? Think before you answer me, for, by G---, if I cannot have justice, I will have revenge." And he put his hand upon her chest near to her throat.


"Take your hand down, George," said she. "I'm not such a fool that you can frighten me in that way."


"Answer me!" he said, and shook her, having some part of her raiment within his clutch.


"Oh, George, that I should live to be so ashamed of my brother!"


"Answer me," he said again; and again he shook her.


"I have answered you. I will say nothing of the kind that you want me to say. My grandfather, up to the latest moment that I saw him, knew what he was about. He was not an idiot. He was, I believe, only carrying out a purpose fixed long before. You will not make me change what I say by looking at me like that, nor get it by shaking me. You don't know me, George, if you think you can frighten me like a child."

"I have answered you. I will say nothing of the kind that you want me to say. My grandfather, up to the latest moment that I saw him, knew what he was doing. He was not an idiot. He was, I believe, only carrying out a purpose fixed long before. You will not make me change what I say by looking at me like that, nor by shaking me. You don't know me, George, if you think you can frighten me like a child."


He heard her to the last word, still keeping his hand upon her, and holding her by the cloak she wore; but the violence of his grasp had relaxed itself, and he let her finish her words, as though his object had simply been to make her speak out to him what she had to say. "Oh," said he, when she had done, "That's to be it; is it? That's your idea of honesty. The very name of the money being your own has been too much for you. I wonder whether you and my uncle had contrived it all between you beforehand?"

He still kept his hand upon her, and held her by her cloak; but the violence of his grasp had relaxed.
"Oh," said he, when she had done, "That's it; is it? That's your idea of honesty. The idea of the money being your own has been too much for you. I wonder whether you and my uncle had contrived it all between you beforehand?"


"You will not dare to ask him, because he is a man," said Kate, her eyes brimming with tears, not through fear, but in very vexation at the nature of the charge he had brought against her.

"You will not dare to ask him, because he is a man," said Kate, her eyes brimming with tears, not through fear, but in very vexation at the charge.


"Shall I not? You will see what I dare do. As for you, with all your promises--. Kate, you know that I keep my word. Say that you will do as I desire you, or I will be the death of you."

"Shall I not? You will see what I dare do. As for you, with all your promises - Kate, say that you will do as I wish, or I will be the death of you."


"Do you mean that you will murder me?" said she.


"Murder you! yes; why not? Treated as I have been among you, do you suppose that I shall stick at anything? Why should I not murder you--you and Alice, too, seeing how you have betrayed me?"

"Murder you! yes; why not? Why should I not murder you - and Alice, too, seeing how you have betrayed me?"


"Poor Alice!" As she spoke the words she looked straight into his eyes, as though defying him, as far as she herself were concerned.

"Poor Alice!" As she spoke she looked straight into his eyes.


"Poor Alice, indeed! D---- hypocrite! There's a pair of you; cursed, whining, false, intriguing hypocrites. There; go down and tell your uncle and that old woman there that I threatened to murder you. Tell the judge so, when you're brought into court to swear me out of my property. You false liar!" Then he pushed her from him with great violence, so that she fell heavily upon the stony ground.

"Poor Alice, indeed! D-- hypocrite! A pair of cursed, whining, false, intriguing hypocrites. There; go and tell your uncle and that old woman there that I threatened to murder you. Tell the judge so, when you're brought into court to swear me out of my property. You false liar!" Then he pushed her from him with great violence, so that she fell heavily on the stony ground.


He did not stop to help her up, or even to look at her as she lay, but walked away across the heath, neither taking the track on towards Haweswater, nor returning by the path which had brought them thither. He went away northwards across the wild fell; and Kate, having risen up and seated herself on a small cairn of stones which stood there, watched him as he descended the slope of the hill till he was out of sight. He did not run, but he seemed to move rapidly, and he never once turned round to look at her. He went away, down the hill northwards, and presently the curving of the ground hid him from her view.

He did not stop to help her up, or even to look at her as she lay, but walked away across the heath, neither taking the track on towards Haweswater, nor returning by the path to the Hall. He went away northwards across the wild fell; and Kate, having sat up, watched him as he descended the slope till he was out of sight. He did not run, but he moved rapidly, and he never once turned round to look at her. He went away down the hill, and presently the curve of the ground hid him from her view.


When she first seated herself her thoughts had been altogether of him. She had feared no personal injury, even when she had asked him whether he would murder her. Her blood had been hot within her veins, and her heart had been full of defiance. Even yet she feared nothing, but continued to think of him and his misery, and his disgrace. That he was gone for ever, utterly and irretrievably ruined, thrown out, as it were, beyond the pale of men, was now certain to her. And this was the brother in whom she had believed; for whom she had not only been willing to sacrifice herself, but for whose purposes she had striven to sacrifice her cousin! What would he do now? As he passed from out of her sight down the hill, it seemed to her as though he were rushing straight into some hell from which there could be no escape.

Her thoughts were all of him. She had feared no personal injury, even when she had asked whether he would murder her. Her heart had been full of defiance; but now she thought of his misery, and his disgrace. That he was gone for ever, utterly ruined, was now certain to her. And this was the brother in whom she had believed; for whom she had not only been willing to sacrifice herself, but also her cousin! What would he do now? As he passed out of her sight, it seemed to her as though he were rushing straight into some hell from which there could be no escape.


She knew that her arm had been hurt in the fall, but for a while she would not move it or feel it, being resolved to take no account of what might have happened to herself. But when he had been gone some ten minutes, she rose to her feet, and finding that the movement pained her greatly, and that her right arm was powerless, she put up her left hand and became aware that the bone of her arm was broken below the elbow. Her first thought was given to the telling him of this, or the not telling, when she should meet him below at the house. How should she mention the accident to him? Should she lie, and say that she had fallen as she came down the hill alone? Of course he would not believe her, but still some such excuse as that might make the matter easier for them all. It did not occur to her that she might not see him again at all that day; and that, as far as he was concerned, there might be need for no lie.

She knew that her arm had been hurt in the fall, but for a while she would not move it, being resolved to take no account of what might have happened to herself. But after some ten minutes, she rose to her feet, and finding that her right arm was powerless, she put up her left hand and became aware that the bone was broken below the elbow.
Her first thought was whether to tell him of this, when she should meet him at the house. How should she mention the accident to him? Should she lie, and say that she had fallen as she came down the hill alone? Of course he would not believe her, but still some such excuse as that might make the matter easier. It did not occur to her that she might not see him again at all that day; and that, as far as he was concerned, there might be no need for a lie.


She started off to walk down home, holding her right arm steadily against her body with her left hand. Of course she must give some account of herself when she got to the house; but it was of the account to be given to him that she thought. As to the others she cared little for them. "Here I am; my arm is broken; and you had better send for a doctor." That would be sufficient for them.

She started to walk home, holding her right arm steadily against her body with her left hand. Of course she must give some account of herself when she got to the house; but she thought chiefly of the account to be given to him. As to the others, "Here I am; my arm is broken; you had better send for a doctor" - that would be enough.


When she got into the wood the path was very dark. The heavens were overcast with clouds, and a few drops began to fall. Then the rain fell faster and faster, and before she had gone a quarter of a mile down the beacon hill, the clouds had opened themselves, and the shower had become a storm of water. Suffering as she was she stood up for a few moments under a large tree, taking the excuse of the rain for some minutes of delay, that she might make up her mind as to what she would say. Then it occurred to her that she might possibly meet him again before she reached the house; and, as she thought of it, she began for the first time to fear him. Would he come out upon her from the trees and really kill her? Had he made his way round, when he got out of her sight, that he might fall upon her suddenly and do as he had threatened? As the idea came upon her, she made a little attempt to run, but she found that running was impracticable from the pain the movement caused her. Then she walked on through the hard rain, steadily holding her arm against her side, but still looking every moment through the trees on the side from which George might be expected to reach her. But no one came near her on her way homewards. Had she been calm enough to think of the nature of the ground, she might have known that he could not have returned upon her so quickly. He must have come back up the steep hill-side which she had seen him descend. No;--he had gone away altogether, across the fells towards Bampton, and was at this moment vainly buttoning his coat across his breast, in his unconscious attempt to keep out the wet. The Fury was driving him on, and he himself was not aware whither he was driven.

When she got into the wood the path was very dark. The heavens were overcast, and a few drops began to fall. Then the rain fell faster and faster, and before she had gone a quarter of a mile, the shower had become a storm of water. Suffering as she was, she stood up for a few moments under a large tree, taking the excuse to make up her mind what she would say.
Then it occurred to her that she might meet him again before she reached the house; and she began for the first time to fear him. Would he come out from the trees and really kill her? Had he made his way round, when he got out of her sight, in order to attack her suddenly?
As the idea came upon her, she made a little attempt to run, but she found that running was impossible with the pain the movement caused her. Then she walked on through the hard rain, steadily holding her arm against her side, but still looking every moment through the trees for George. But no one came near her. George had gone away altogether, across the fells towards Bampton, and was at this moment vainly buttoning his coat against the wet. The Fury was driving him on, and he himself was not aware whither he was driven.