Colonel Osborne was expected at Nuncombe Putney on the Friday, and, it was Thursday evening before either Mrs Stanbury or Priscilla was told of his coming. Emily had argued the matter with Nora, declaring that she would make the communication herself, and that she would make it when she pleased, and how she pleased. ‘If Mrs Stanbury thinks,’ said she, ‘that I am going to be treated as a prisoner, or that I will not judge myself as to whom I may see, or whom I may not see, she is very much mistaken.’ Nora felt that were she to give information to those ladies in opposition to her sister’s wishes, she would express suspicion on her own part by doing so; and she was silent. On that same Thursday Priscilla had written her last defiant letter to her aunt, that letter in which she had cautioned her aunt to make no further accusation without being sure of her facts. To Priscilla’s imagination that coming of Lucifer in person, of which Mrs Trevelyan had spoken, would hardly have been worse than the coming of Colonel Osborne. When, therefore, Mrs Trevelyan declared the fact on the Thursday evening, vainly endeavouring to speak of the threatened visit in an ordinary voice, and as of an ordinary circumstance, it was as though a thunderbolt had fallen upon them.

‘Colonel Osborne coming here!’ said Priscilla, mindful of the Stanbury correspondence mindful of the evil tongues of the world.

‘And why not?’ demanded Mrs Trevelyan, who had heard nothing of the Stanbury correspondence.

‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ ejaculated Mrs Stanbury, who, of course, was aware of all that had passed between the Clock House and the house in the Close, though the letters had been written by her daughter.

Nora was determined to stand up for her sister, whatever might be the circumstances of the case. ‘I wish Colonel Osborne were not coming,’ said she, ‘because it makes a foolish fuss; but I cannot understand how anybody can suppose it to be wrong that Emily should see papa’s very oldest friend in the world.’

‘But why is he coming?’ demanded Priscilla.

‘Because he wants to see an acquaintance at Cockchaffington;’ said Mrs Trevelyan; ‘and there is a wonderful church-door there.’

‘A church-fiddlestick!’ said Priscilla.

The matter was debated throughout all the evening. At one time there was a great quarrel between the ladies, and then there was a reconciliation. The point on which Mrs Trevelyan stood with the greatest firmness was this that it did not become her, as a married woman ‘whose conduct had always been good and who was more careful as to that than she was even of her name, to be ashamed to meet any man. ‘Why should I not see Colonel Osborne, or Colonel anybody else who might call here with the same justification for calling which his old friendship gives him?’ Priscilla endeavoured to explain to her that her husband’s known wishes ought to hinder her from doing so. ‘My husband should have remained with me, to express his wishes,’ Mrs Trevelyan replied.

Neither could Mrs Stanbury nor could Priscilla bring herself to say that the man should not be admitted into the house. In the course of the debate, in the heat of her anger, Mrs Trevelyan declared that were any such threat held out to her, she would leave the house and see Colonel Osborne in the Street, or at the inn.

‘No, Emily; no,’ said Nora.

‘But I will. I will not submit to be treated as a guilty woman, or as a prisoner. They may say what they like, but I won’t be shut up.’

‘No one has tried to shut you up,’ said Priscilla.

‘You are afraid of that old woman at Exeter,’ said Mrs Trevelyan; for by this time the facts of the Stanbury correspondence had all been elicited in general conversation; ‘and yet you know how uncharitable and malicious she is.’

‘We are not afraid of her,’ said Priscilla. ‘We are afraid of nothing but of doing wrong.’

‘And will it be wrong to let an old gentleman come into the house,’ said Nora, ‘who is nearly sixty, and who has known us ever since we were born?’

‘If he is nearly sixty, Priscilla,’ said Mrs Stanbury, ‘that does seem to make a difference.’ Mrs Stanbury herself was only just sixty, and she felt herself to be quite an old woman.

‘They may be devils at eighty,’ said Priscilla.

‘Colonel Osborne is not a devil at all,’ said Nora.

‘But mamma is so foolish,’ said Priscilla. ‘The man’s age does not matter in the least.’

‘I beg your pardon, my dear,’ said Mrs Stanbury, very humbly.

At that time the quarrel was raging, but afterwards came the reconciliation. Had it not been for the Stanbury correspondence the fact of Colonel Osborne’s threatened visit would have been admitted as a thing necessary, as a disagreeable necessity; but how was the visit to be admitted and passed over in the teeth of that correspondence? Priscilla felt very keenly the peculiar cruelty of her position. Of course, Aunt Stanbury would hear of the visit. Indeed, any secrecy in the matter was not compatible with Priscilla’s ideas of honesty. Her aunt had apologised humbly for having said that Colonel Osborne had been at Nuncombe. That apology, doubtless, had been due. Colonel Osborne had not been at Nuncombe when the accusation had been made, and the accusation had been unjust and false. But his coming had been spoken of by Priscilla in her own letters as an occurrence which was quite out of the question. Her anger against her aunt had been for saying that the man had come, not for objecting to such a visit. And now the man was coming, and Aunt Stanbury would know all about it. How great, how terrible, how crushing would be Aunt Stanbury’s triumph!

‘I must write and tell her,’ said Priscilla.

‘I am sure I shall not object,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. ‘And Hugh must be told,’ said Mrs Stanbury.

‘You may tell all the world, if you like,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

In this way it was settled among them that Colonel Osborne was to be received. On the next morning, Friday morning, Colonel Osborne, doubtless having heard something of Mrs Crocket from his friend at Cockchaffington, was up early, and had himself driven over to Nuncombe Putney before breakfast. The ever-watchful Bozzle was, of course, at his heels or rather, not at his heels on the first two miles of the journey; for Bozzle, with painful zeal, had made himself aware of all the facts, and had started on the Nuncombe Putney road half an hour before the Colonel’s fly was in motion. And when the fly passed him he was lying discreetly hidden behind an old oak. The driver, however, had caught a glimpse of him as he was topping a hill, and having seen him about on the previous day, and perceiving that he was dressed in a decent coat and trousers, and that, nevertheless, he was not a gentleman, began to suspect that he was somebody. There was a great deal said afterwards about Bozzle in Mrs Clegg’s yard at Lessboro’; but the Lessboro’ mind was never able to satisfy itself altogether respecting Bozzle and his mission. As to Colonel Osborne and his mission, the Lessboro’ mind did satisfy itself with much certainty. The horse was hardly taken from out of Colonel Osborne’s fly in Mrs Crocket’s yard when Bozzle stepped into the village by a path which he had already discovered, and soon busied himself among the tombs in the churchyard. Now, one corner of the churchyard was immediately opposite to the iron gate leading into the Clock House. ‘Drat ’un,’ said the wooden-legged postman, still sitting on his donkey, to Mrs Crocket’s ostler, ‘if there be’ant the chap as was here yesterday when I was a starting, and I zeed ’un in Lezbro’ Street thick very morning.’ ‘He be’ant arter no good, that ’un,’ said the ostler. After that a close watch was kept upon the watcher.

In the meantime, Colonel Osborne had ordered his breakfast at the Stag and Antlers, and had asked questions as to the position of the Clock House. He was altogether ignorant of Mr Bozzle, although Mr Bozzle had been on his track now for two days and two nights. He had determined, as he came on to Nuncombe Putney, that he would not be shame-faced about his visit to Mrs Trevelyan. It is possible that he was not so keen in the matter as he had. Been when he planned his journey in London; and, it may be, that he really tried to make himself believe that he had come all the way to the confines of Dartmoor to see the porch of Cockchaffington Church. The session in London was over, and it was necessary for such a man as Colonel Osborne that he should do something with himself before he went down to the Scotch grouse. He had long desired to see something of the most picturesque county in England; and now, as he sat eating his breakfast in Mrs Crocket’s parlour, he almost looked upon his dear Emily as a subsidiary attraction. ‘Oh, that&rsqu............