“No doubt it will be very hard to make papa understand.” This was said by Gertrude to her new lover a few days after that order had been given that the lover should be sent away from Merle Park. The purport of the order in all its severity had not been conveyed to Captain Batsby. The ladies had felt — Gertrude had felt very strongly — that were he informed that the master of the house demanded his absence he would take himself off at once. But still something had to be said — and something done. Captain Batsby was, just at present, in a matrimonial frame of mind. He had come to Merle Park to look for a wife, and, as he had missed one, was, in his present mood, inclined to take another. But there was no knowing how long this might last. Augusta had hinted that “something must be done, either with papa’s consent or without it”. Then there had come the conversation in which Gertrude acknowledged the existing difficulty. “Papa, too, probably, would not consent quite at once.”

“He must think it very odd that I am staying here,” said the Captain.

“Of course it is odd. If you could go to him and tell him everything!” But the Captain, looking at the matter all round, thought that he could not go to Sir Thomas and tell him anything. Then she began gently to introduce the respectable clergyman at Ostend. It was not necessary that she should refer at length to the circumstances under which she had studied the subject, but she gave Captain Batsby to understand that it was one as to which she had picked up a good deal of information.

But the money! “If Sir Thomas were made really angry, the consequences would be disastrous,” said the Captain. But Gertrude was of a different way of thinking. Her father was, no doubt, a man who could be very imperious, and would insist upon having his own way as long as his own way was profitable to him. But he was a man who always forgave.

“If you mean about the money,” said Gertrude, I am quite sure that it would all come right.” He did mean about the money, and was evidently uneasy in his mind when the suggested step was made manifest to him. Gertrude was astonished to see how long and melancholy his face could become. “Papa was never unkind about money in his life,” said Gertrude. “He could not endure to have any of us poor.”

On the next Saturday Sir Thomas again came down, and still found his guest at Merle Park. We are now a little in advance of our special story, which is, or ought to be, devoted to Ayala. But, with the affairs of so many lovers and their loves, it is almost impossible to make the chronicle run at equal periods throughout. It was now more than three weeks since Ayala went to Stalham, and Lady Albury had written to the Captain confessing something of her sin, and begging to be forgiven. This she had done in her anxiety to keep the Captain away. He had not answered his sister-in-law’s letter, but, in his present frame of mind, was not at all anxious to finish up the hunting season at Stalham. Sir Thomas, on his arrival, was very full of Tom’s projected tour. He had arranged everything — except in regard to Tom’s own assent. He had written to New York, and had received back a reply from his correspondent assuring him that Tom should be made most heartily welcome. It might be that Tom’s fighting propensities had not been made known to the people of New York. Sir Thomas had taken a berth on board of one of the Cunard boats, and had even gone so far as to ask the Captain to come down for a day or two to Merle Park. He was so much employed with Tom that he could hardly afford time and consideration to Captain Batsby and his affairs. Nevertheless he did ask a question, and received an answer with which he seemed to be satisfied. “What on earth is that man staying here for?” he said to his wife.

“He is going on Friday,” replied Lady Tringle, doubtingly — almost as though she thought that she would be subjected to further anger because of this delay. But Sir Thomas dropped the subject, and passed on to some matter affecting Tom’s outfit. Lady Tringle was very glad to change the subject, and promised that everything should be supplied befitting the hottest and coldest climates on the earth’s surface.

“She sails on the nineteenth of April.” said Sir Thomas to his son.

“I don’t think I could go as soon as that, Sir,” replied Tom, whining.

“Why not? There are more than three weeks yet, and your mother will have everything ready for you. What on earth is there to hinder you?”

“I don’t think I could go — not on the nineteenth of April.”

“Well then, you must. I have taken your place, and Firkin expects you at New York. They’ll do everything for you there, and you’ll find quite a new life. I should have thought you’d have been delighted to get away from your wretched condition here.”

“It is wretched,” said Tom; but I’d rather not go quite so soon.”

“Why not?”

“Well, then — ”

“What is it, Tom? It makes me unhappy when I see you such a fool.”

“I am a fool! I know I am a fool!”

“Then make a new start of it. Cut and run, and begin the world again. You’re young enough to forget all this.”

“So I would, only — ”

“Only what?”

“I suppose she is engaged to that man Stubbs! If I knew it for certain then I would go. If I went before, I should only come back as soon as I got to New York. If they were once married and it were all done with I think I could make a new start.”

In answer to this his father told him that he must go on the nineteenth of April, whether Ayala were engaged or disengaged, married or unmarried — that his outfit would be bought, his cabin would be ready, circular notes for his use would be prepared, and everything would be arranged to make his prolonged tour as comfortable as possible; but that if he did not start on that day all the Tringle houses would be closed against him, and he would be turned penniless out into the world. “You’ll have to learn that I’m in earnest,” said Sir Thomas, as he turned his back and walked away. Tom took himself off to reflect whether it would not be a grand thing to be turned penniless out into the world — and all for love!

By the early train on Monday Sir Thomas returned to London, having taken little or no heed of Captain Batsby during his late visit to the country. Even at Merle Park Captain Batsby’s presence was less important than it would otherwise have been to Lady Tringle and Mrs Traffick, because of the serious nature of Sir Thomas’s decision as to his son. Lady Tringle perhaps suspected something. Mrs Traffick, no doubt, had her own ideas as to her sister’s position; but nothing was said and nothing was done. Both on the Wednesday and on the Thursday Lady Tringle went up to town to give the required orders on Tom’s behalf. On the Thursday her elder daughter accompanied her, and returned with her in the evening. On their arrival they learnt that neither Captain Batsby nor Miss Gertrude had been seen since ten o’clock; that almost immediately after Lady Tringle’s departure in the morning Captain Batsby had caused all his luggage to be sent into Hastings; and that it had since appeared that a considerable number of Miss Gertrude’s things were missing. There could be no doubt that she had caused them to be packed up with the Captain’s luggage. “They have gone to Ostend, mamma,” said Augusta. “I was sure of it, because I’ve heard Gertrude say that people can always get themselves married at Ostend. There is a clergyman there on purpose to do it.”

It was at this time past seven o’clock, and Lady Tringle when she heard the news was so astounded that she did not at first know how to act. It was not possible for her to reach Dover that night before the night boat for Ostend should have started — even could she have done any good by going there. Tom was in such a condition that she hardly dared to trust him; but it was settled at last that she should telegraph at once to Sir Thomas, in Lombard Street, and that Tom should travel up to London by the night train.

On the following morning Lady Tringle received a letter from Gertrude, posted by that young lady at Dover as she passed through on her road to Ostend. It was as follows:

DEAR MAMMA ,

You will be surprised on your return from London to find that we have gone. After much thinking about it we determined it would be best, because we had quite made up our mind not to be kept separated. Ben was so eager about it that I was obliged to yield. We were afraid that if we asked papa at once he would not have given his consent. Pray give him my most dutiful love, and tell him that I am sure he will never have occasion to be ashamed of his son-in-law. I don’t suppose he knows, but it is the fact that Captain Batsby has about three thousand a year of his own. It is very different from having nothing, like that wretch Frank Houston, or, for that matter, Mr Traffick. Ben was quite in a position to ask papa, but things had happened which made us both feel that papa would not like it just at present. We mean to be married at Ostend, and then will come back as soon as you and papa say that you will receive us. In the meantime I wish you would send some of my clothes after me. Of course I had to come away with very little luggage, because I was obliged to have my things mixed up with Ben’s. I did not dare to have my boxes brought down by the servants. Could you send me the green silk in which I went to church the last two Sundays, and my pink gauze, and the grey poplin? Please send two or three flannel petticoats, as I could not put them among his things, and as many cuffs and collars as you can cram in. I suppose I can get boots at O............