"Miss Trevanion's maid, sir--a new maid; and Mrs Mole blabbed to my young lady, and so she took fright, and insisted on coming to town. And Lady Castleton, who is ill herself in bed, could not keep her, I suppose--especially as Henry said, though he ought to have known better, 'that she would be in time to arrive before my lady set off.' Poor Miss Trevanion was so disappointed when she found her mamma gone. And then she would order fresh horses, and would go on, though Mrs Bates (the housekeeper, you know, sir) was very angry with Mrs Mole, who encouraged Miss; and--" "Good heavens! Why did not Mrs Bates go with her?" "Why, sir, you know how old Mrs Bates is, and my young lady is always so kind that she would not hear of it, as she is going to travel night and day; and Mrs Mole said she had gone all over the world with her last lady, and that--" "I see it all. Where is Mr Gower?" "Mr Gower, sir!" "Yes! Can't you answer?" "Why, with Mr Trevanion, I believe, sir." "In the north--what is the address?" "Lord N----, C---- Hall, near W----" I heard no more. The conviction of some villanous snare struck me as with the swiftness and force of lightning. Why, if Trevanion were really ill, had the false servant concealed it from me? Why suffered me to waste his time, instead of hastening to Lady Ellinor? How, if Mr Trevanion's _sudden_ illness had brought the man to London--how had he known so long beforehand (as he himself told me, and his appointment with the waiting woman proved) the day he should arrive? Why now, if there were no design of which Miss Trevanion was the object--why so frustrate the provident foresight of her mother, and take advantage of the natural yearning of affection, the quick impulse of youth, to hurry off a girl whose very station forbade her to take such a journey without suitable protection--against what must be the wish, and what clearly were the instructions, of Lady Ellinor? Alone,--worse than alone! Fanny Trevanion was then in the hands of two servants, who were the instruments and confidants of an adventurer like Vivian; and that conference between those servants--those broken references to the morrow, coupled with the name Vivian had assumed--needed the unerring instincts of love more cause for terror--terror the darker, because the exact shape it should assume was obscure and indistinct? I sprang from the house. I hastened into the Haymarket, summoned a cabriolet, drove home as fast as I could (for I had no money about me for the journey I meditated;) sent the servant of the lodging to engage a chaise-and-four, rushed into the room, where Roland fortunately still was, and exclaimed--"Uncle, come with me!--take money, plenty of money!--Some villany I know, though I cannot explain it, has been practised on the Trevanions. We may defeat it yet. I will tell you all by the way--come, come!" "Certainly. But villany!--and to people of such a station--pooh--collect yourself. Who is the villain?"