Frances was very sensible to the arrow thus flung at her in haste, without thought. She was so stung by it, that she turned hastily to do her mother’s commission at all costs. But before she had taken half-a-dozen steps, Markham himself appeared, coming leisurely, easily, with his usual composure, round the corner. “What’s wrong with you, little un?” he asked. “You are not vexed at what I said to you, Fan? I couldn’t help it, my dear.” “It isn’t that, Markham. It is--mamma.” And then Lady Markham, too much excited to wait, came out to join them. “Do you know the state of affairs, Markham? Does she know? I want you to go off instantly, without losing a moment, to Southampton, to fetch Dr Howard. Quick! There is just time to get the boat.” “Dr Howard? What is wrong with the man here?” “He is afraid of the responsibility--at least I am, Markham. Think--in your house! Oh yes, my dear, go without delay.” Markham paused, and looked at her with his keen little eyes. “Mother, why don’t you say at once you want to get me out of the way?” “I do. I don’t deny it, Markham. But this too. We ought to have another opinion. Do, for any favour, what I ask you, dear; oh, do it! Oh yes, I would rather you sent him here, and did not come back with him. But come back, if you must; only, go, go now.” “You think he will be--dead before I could get back? I will telegraph for Dr Howard, mother; but I will not go away.” “You can do no good, Markham--except to make people talk. Oh, for mercy’s sake, whatever you may do afterwards, go now.” “I will go and telegraph--with pleasure,” he said. Lady Markham turned and took Frances’ arm, as he left them. “I think I must give in now altogether,” she cried. “All is going wrong with me. First Con, and then my boy. For now I see what will happen. And you don’t know, you can’t think what Markham has been to me. Oh, he has been everything to me! And now--I know what will happen now.” “Mamma,” said Frances, trembling. She wanted to say that little as she herself was, she was one who would never forsake her mother. But she was so conscious that Lady Markham’s thoughts went over her head and took no note of her, that the words were stifled on her lips. “He said to me once that he could never--leave you,” she said, faltering, though it was not what she meant to say. “He said to you once----? Then he has been thinking of it; he has been discussing the question?” Lady Markham said with bitterness. She leant heavily upon Frances’ arm, but not with any tender appreciation of the girl’s wistful desire to comfort her. “That means,” she said, “that I can never desert him. I must go now and get rid of all this excitement, and put on a composed face, and tell the people that they may go away if they like. It will be the right thing for them to go away. But I can’t stay here with death in the house, and take a motherly care of--of that girl, whom I never trusted--whom Markham---- And she will marry him within the year. I know it.”