Nora Rowley, when she escaped from the violence of her lover, at once rushed up to her own room, and managed to fasten herself in before she had been seen by any one. Her eider sister had at once gone to her aunt when, at Hugh’s request, she had left the room, thinking it right that Mrs Outhouse should know what was being done in her own house. Mrs Outhouse had considered the matter patiently for a while, giving the lovers the benefit of her hesitation, and had then spoken her mind to Stanbury, as we have already heard. He had, upon the whole, been so well pleased with what had occurred, that he was not in the least angry with the parson’s wife when he left the parsonage. As soon as he was gone Mrs Outhouse was at once joined by her elder niece, but Nora remained for a while alone in her room.

Had she committed herself; and if so, did she regret it? He had behaved very badly to her, certainly, taking her by the hand and putting his arm round her waist. And then had he not even attempted to kiss her? He had done all this, although she had been resolute in refusing to speak to him one word of kindness though she had told him with all the energy and certainty of which she was mistress, that she would never be his wife. If a girl were to be subjected to such treatment as this when she herself had been so firm, so discreet, so decided, then indeed it would be unfit that a girl should trust herself with a man. She had never thought that he had been such a one as that, to ill-use her, to lay a hand on her in violence, to refuse to take an answer. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed, and then hid her face and was conscious that in spite of this acting before herself she was the happiest girl alive. He had behaved very badly of course, he had behaved most wickedly, and she would tell him so some day. But was he not the dearest fellow living? Did ever man speak with more absolute conviction of love in every tone of his voice? Was it not the finest, noblest heart that ever throbbed beneath a waistcoat? Had not his very wickedness come from the overpowering truth of his affection for her? She would never quite forgive him because it had been so very wrong; but she would be true to him for ever and ever. Of course they could not marry. What! would she go to him and be a clog round his neck, and a weight upon him for ever, bringing him down to the gutter by the burden of her own useless and unworthy self? No. She would never so injure him. She would not even hamper him by an engagement. But yet she would be true to him. She had an idea that in spite of all her protestations which, as she looked back upon them, appeared to her to have been louder than they had been, that through the teeth of her denials, something of the truth had escaped from her. Well let it be so. It was the truth, and why should he not know it? Then she pictured to herself a long romance, in which the heroine lived happily on the simple knowledge that she had been beloved. And the reader may be sure that in this romance Mr Glascock with his splendid prospects filled one of the characters.

She had been so wretched at Nuncombe Putney when she had felt herself constrained to admit to herself that this man for whom she had sacrificed herself did not care for her, that she could not now but enjoy her triumph. After she had sobbed upon the bed, she got up and walked about the room smiling; and she would now press her hands to her forehead, and then shake her tresses, and then clasp her own left hand with her right, as though he were still holding it. Wicked man! Why had he been so wicked and so violent? And why, why, why had she not once felt his lips upon her brow?

And she was pleased with herself. Her sister had rebuked her because she had refused to make her fortune by marrying Mr Glascock; and, to own the truth, she had rebuked herself on the same score when she found that Hugh Stanbury had not had a word of love to say to her. It was not that she regretted the grandeur which she had lost, but that she should, even within her own thoughts, with the consciousness of her own bosom, have declared herself unable to receive another man’s devotion because of her love for this man who neglected her. Now she was proud of herself. Whether it might be accounted as good or ill-fortune that she had ever seen Hugh Stanbury, it must at any rate be right that she should be true to him now that she had seen him, and had loved him. To know that she loved and that she was not loved again had nearly killed her. But such was not her lot. She too had been successful with her quarry, and had struck her game, and brought down her dear. He had been very violent with her, but his violence had at least made the matter clear. He did love her. She would be satisfied with that, and would endeavour so to live that that alone should make life happy for her. How should she get his photograph and a lock of his hair? and when again might she have the pleasure of placing her own hand within his great, rough, violent grasp? Then she kissed the hand which he had held, and opened the door of her room, at which her sister was now knocking.

‘Nora, dear, will you not come down?’

‘Not yet, Emily. Very soon I will.’

‘And what has happened, dearest?’

‘There is nothing to tell, Emily.’

‘There must be something to tell. What did he say to you?’

‘Of course you know what he said.’

‘And what answer did you make?’

‘I told him that it could not be.’

‘And did he take that as final, Nora?’

‘Of course not. What man ever takes a No as final?’

‘When you said No to Mr Glascock he took it.’

‘That was different, Emily.’

‘But how different? I don’t see the difference, except that if you could have brought yourself to like Mr Glascock, it would have been the greatest thing in the world for you, and for all of them.’

‘Would you have me take a man, Emily, that I didn’t care one straw for, merely because he was a lord? You can’t mean that.’

‘I’m not talking about Mr Glascock now, Nora.’

‘Yes, you are. And what’s the use. He is gone, and there’s an end of it.’

‘And is Mr Stanbury gone?’

‘Of course.’

‘In the same way?’ asked Mrs Trevelyan.

‘How can I tell about his ways? No; it is not in the same way. There! He went in a very different way.’

‘How was it different, Nora?’

‘Oh, so different. I can’t tell you how. Mr Glascock will never come back again.’

‘And Mr Stanbury will?’ said the elder sister. Nora made no reply, but after a while nodded her head. ‘And you want him to come back?’ She paused again, and again nodded her head. ‘Then you have accepted him?’

‘I have not accepted him. I have refused him. I have told him that it was impossible.’

‘And yet you wish him back again!’ Nora again nodded her head. ‘That is a state of things I cannot at all understand,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, ‘and would not believe unless you told me so yourself.’

‘And you think me very wrong, of course. I will endeavour to do nothing wrong, but it is so. I have not said a word of encouragement to Mr Stanbury; but I love him with all my heart. Ought I to tell you a lie when you question me? Or is it natural that I should never wish to see again a person whom I love better than all the world? It seems to me that a girl can hardly be right if she have any choice of her own. Here are two men, one rich and the other poor. I shall fall to the ground between them. I know that. I have fallen to the ground already. I like the one I can’t marry. I don’t care a straw for the one who could give me a grand house. That is falling to the ground. But I don’t see that it is hard to understand, or that I have disgraced myself.’

‘I said nothing of disgrace, Nora.’

‘But you looked it.’

‘I did not intend to look it, dearest.’

He knew he was right.

‘And remember this, Emily, I have told you everything because you asked me. I do not mean to tell anybody else, at all. Mamma would not understand me. I have not told him, and I shall not.’

‘You mean Mr Stanbury?’

‘Yes; I mean Mr Stanbury. As to Mr Glascock, of course I shall tell mamma that. I have no secret there. That is his secret, and I suppose mamma should know it. But I will have nothing told about the other. Had I accepted him, or even hinted to him that I cared for him, I would tell mamma at once.’

After that there came something of a lecture, or something, rather, of admonition, from Mrs Outhouse. That lady did not attempt to upbraid, or to find any fault; but observed that as she understood that Mr Stanbury had no means whatever, and as Nora herself had none, there had better be no further intercourse between them, till, at any rate, Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley should be in London.‘so I told him that he must not come here any more, my dear,’ said Mrs Outhouse.

‘You are quite right, aunt. He ought not to come here.’

‘I am so glad that you agree with me.’

‘I agree with you altogether. I think I was bound to see him when he asked to see me; but the thing is altogether out of the question. I don’t think he’ll come any more, aunt.’ Then Mrs Outhouse was quite satisfied that no harm had been done.

A month had now passed since anything had been heard at St. Diddulph’s from Mr Trevelyan, and it seemed that many months might go on in the same dull way. When Mrs Trevelyan first found herself in her uncle’s house, a sum of two hundred pounds had been sent to her; and since that she had received a letter from her husband’s lawyer saying that a similar amount would be sent to her every three months, as long as she was separated from her husband. A portion of this she had given over to Mr Outhouse; but this pecuniary assistance by no means comforted that unfortunate gentleman in his trouble. ‘I don’t want to get into debt,’ he said, ‘by keeping a lot of people whom I haven’t the means to feed. And I don’t want to board and lodge my nieces and their family at so much a head. It’s very hard upon me either way.’ And so it was. All the comfort of his home was destroyed, and he was driven to sacrifice his independence by paying his tradesmen with a portion of Mrs Trevelyan’s money. The more he thought of it all, and the more he discussed the matter with his wife, the more indignant they became with the truant husband. ‘I can’t believe,’ he said, ‘but what Mr Bideawhile could make him come back, if he chose to do his duty.’

‘But they say that Mr Trevelyan is in Italy, my dear.’

‘And if I went to Italy, might I leave you to starve, and take my income with me?’

‘He doesn’t leave her quite to starve, my dear.’

‘But isn’t a man bound to stay with his wife? I never heard of such a thing never. And I’m sure that there must be something wrong. A man can’t go away and leave his wife to live with her uncle and aunt. It isn’t right.’

‘But what can we do?’

Mr Outhouse was forced to acknowledge that nothing could be done. He was a man to whom the quiescence of his own childless house was the one pleasure of his existence. And of that he was robbed because this wicked madman chose to neglect all his duties, and leave his wife without a house to shelter her.‘supposing that she couldn’t have come here, what then?’ said Mr Outhouse. ‘I did tell him, as plain as words could speak, that we couldn’t receive them.’ ‘But here they are,’ said Mrs ............