Then when the squire saw his wife, he stepped back toward her and half-whispered in her ear: "Where is John Temple?" he said. "He is gone," she answered, "and he says he will never return." Mr. Temple upon this beckoned to Mr. Churchill. "Mrs. Temple says my nephew has left the house, Mr. Churchill," he said. "Then I'll follow him," answered the farmer, sturdily; "you have told me, squire, that if he has not already done my girl justice that you wish him and authorize him to do so?" "Most certainly," replied Mr. Temple; "I am ready and wishful to receive your daughter as his wife." "I thank you, sir, with all my heart. Will you give me the address, madam, where she is, for all this has well-nigh put it out of my head," he added, addressing Mrs. Temple, "and I'll go up to London to-night, or to-morrow at latest." Mrs. Temple went to the writing-table without a word, and wrote down Miss Webster's address in Pembridge Terrace, which she remembered only too well, and handed it to Mr. Churchill. "Thank you kindly, madam," he said, "and now, as the doctor's here, and the squire, I think I'll go, as I leave Mr. Henderson in such good hands, and I have my missus to consult a bit, and some business to see about before I can get off to London. Good-morning, madam; good-morning, squire." So Mr. Churchill went away, but he was scarcely gone when Mrs. Layton rushed hastily into the room. She had heard a report somehow that there had been a quarrel between young Henderson and John Temple, and that the doctor had been sent for, so she had hurried up to the Hall to see and hear all about it. "What is this, Rachel!" she cried, looking at the prostrate figure on the couch. "Whatever has happened?" Mrs. Temple shrugged her shoulders. "It means a fight," she said, scornfully, "and there is the fallen one!" And she pointed to Henderson. "But what on earth did they quarrel about?" asked Mrs. Layton, eagerly. "The village beauty," answered Mrs. Temple, still more scornfully; "it seems my nephew, John Temple, had run away with Miss Churchill, and his uncle has given his consent to his marriage with her, so we may expect her here." "What!" almost screamed Mrs. Layton. "Rachel," said the squire in grave reproof, "is this a way in which to speak of a most painful affair? If John Temple did induce this young lady to leave her home, as you say he did, he is bound in honor to make her his wife." "To make Margaret Churchill his wife!" screamed Mrs. Layton. "Why, squire, you must be mad to dream of such a thing!" The squire gave a contemptuous bow. "You may have your ideas, madam," he said, "and I have mine. I have told you what mine are, and in my own house. I'll see they are respected." Mrs. Layton's face fell; the squire might be mad, was mad to talk thus, but still he was the master of the house from which so many good things went to the vicarage, and she could not afford to quarrel with him.