On the next day Sir Marmaduke purposed going to Willesden. He was in great doubt whether or no he would first consult that very eminent man Dr Trite Turbury, as to the possibility, and if possible as to the expediency, of placing Mr Trevelyan under some control. But Sir Marmaduke, though he would repeatedly declare that his son-inlaw was mad, did not really believe in this madness. He did not, that is, believe that Trevelyan was so mad as to be fairly exempt from the penalties of responsibility; and he was therefore desirous of speaking his own mind out fully to the man, and, as it were, of having his own personal revenge, before he might be deterred by the interposition of medical advice. He resolved therefore that he would not see Sir Trite Turbury, at any rate till he had come back from Willesden. He also went down in a cab, but he left the cab at the public-house at the corner of the road, and walked to the cottage.

When he asked whether Mr Trevelyan was at home, the woman of the house hesitated and then said that her lodger was out. ‘I particularly wish to see him,’ said Sir Marmaduke, feeling that the woman was lying to him. ‘But he ain’t to be seen, sir,’ said the woman. ‘I know he is at home,’ said Sir Marmaduke. But the argument was soon cut short by the appearance of Trevelyan behind the woman’s shoulder.

‘I am here, Sir Marmaduke Rowley,’ said Trevelyan. ‘If you wish to see me you may come in. I will not say that you are welcome, but you can come in.’ Then the woman retired, and Sir Marmaduke followed Trevelyan into the room in which Lady Rowley and Emily had been received; but the child was not now in the chamber.

‘What are these charges that I hear against my daughter?’ said Sir Marmaduke, rushing at once into the midst of his indignation.

‘I do not know what charges you have heard.’

‘You have put her away.’

‘In strict accuracy that is not correct, Sir Marmaduke.’

‘But she is put away. She is in my house now because you have no house of your own for her. Is not that so? And when I came home she was staying with her uncle, because you had put her away. And what was the meaning of her being sent down into Devonshire? What has she done? I am her father, and I expect to have an answer.’

‘You shall have an answer, certainly.’

‘And a true one. I will have no hocus-pocus, no humbug, no Jesuitry.’

‘Have you come here to insult me, Sir Marmaduke? Because, if so, there shall be an end to this interview at once.’

‘There shall not be an end — by G—, no, not till I have heard what is the meaning of all this. Do you know what people are saying of you: that you are mad, and that you must be locked up, and your child taken away from you, and your property?’

‘Who are the people that say so? Yourself and, perhaps, Lady Rowley? Does my wife say so? Does she think that I am mad? She did not think so on Thursday, when she prayed that she might be allowed to come back and live with me.’

‘And you would not let her come?’

‘Pardon me,’ said Trevelyan. ‘I would wish that she should, come but it must be on certain conditions.’

‘What I want to know is why she was turned out of your house?’

‘She was not turned out.’

‘What has she done that she should be punished?’ urged Sir Marmaduke, who was unable to arrange his questions with the happiness which had distinguished Major Magruder. ‘I insist upon knowing what it is that you lay to her charge. I am her father, and I have a right to know. She has been barbarously, shamefully ill-used, and by G I will know.’

‘You have come here to bully me, Sir Marmaduke Rowley.’

‘I have come here, sir, to do the duty of a parent to his child; to protect my poor girl against the cruelty of a husband who in an unfortunate hour was allowed to take her from her home. I will know the reason why my daughter has been treated as though — as though — as though —’

‘Listen to me for a minute,’ said Trevelyan.

‘I am listening.’

‘I will tell you nothing; I will answer you not a word.’

‘You will not answer me?’

‘Not when you come to me in this fashion. My wife is my wife, and my claim to her is nearer and closer than is yours, who are her father. She is the mother of my child, and the only being in the world except that child whom I love. Do you think that with such motives on my part for tenderness towards her, for loving care, for the most anxious solicitude, that I can be made more anxious, more tender, more loving by coarse epithets from you? I am the most miserable being under the sun because our happiness has been interrupted, and is it likely that such misery should be cured by violent words and gestures? If your heart is wrung for her, so is mine. If she be much to you, she is more to me. She came here the other day, almost as a stranger, and I thought that my heart would have burst beneath its weight of woe. What can you do that can add an ounce to the burden that I bear? You may as well leave me or at least be quiet.’

Sir Marmaduke had stood and listened to him, and he, too, was so struck by the altered appearance of the man that the violence of his indignation was lessened by the pity which he could not suppress. When Trevelyan spoke of his wretchedness, it was impossible not to believe him. He was as wretched a being to look at as it might have been possible to find. His contracted cheeks, and lips always open, and eyes glowing in their sunken caverns, told a tale which even Sir Marmaduke, who was not of nature quick in deciphering such stories, could not fail to read. And then the twitching action of the man’s hands, and the restless shuffling of his feet, produced a nervous feeling that if some remedy were not applied quickly, some alleviation given to the misery of the suffering wretch, human power would be strained too far, and the man would break to pieces or else the mind of the man. Sir Marmaduke, during his jour............