This adventure, as may naturally be supposed, did not tend to soften or sweeten the mood of Sir Francis Tyrrell, and he returned to his own abode more full of anger and violence than ever. He sought for somebody to vent his irritated feelings upon; and it is not improbable that, if Mr. Driesen had met him at that moment, he would have quarrelled even with him, though, as we have thrice before remarked, they had lived in constant acquaintanceship through a long life without the violent passions of the one, or the utter want of principle of the other, ever ending in a serious dispute between them. It so happened, however, that Mr. Driesen was invariably out of the way when Sir Francis Tyrrell's wrath was excited to such a pitch as to be in absolute need of some outlet; and by this fortunate circumstance as well as others, the worthy gentleman had uniformly contrived to keep well with his friend. Mr. Driesen, then, had, as usual, gone forth to walk; and as the necessity was strong upon him, Sir Francis strode up stairs and sought the apartments of his unhappy wife. She had no means of escape, and the moment she beheld him she read upon the dark and troubled page of his countenance, a page which she had studied with grief and agony for many a year, that some new suffering, some still greater aggravation of sorrow was in store for her. But there is a pitch at which endurance ends, and where the most timid and the most gentle must resist. That point was reached between Lady Tyrrell and her husband. She had long contemplated taking a step which would decide her fate for the future; and the instant she beheld the dark and lowering brow of her husband, she nerved all her energies, she prepared her mind with the recollection of all the past, in order to fulfil the resolution she had taken. She felt that to live with Sir Francis Tyrrell longer was to live a living death. Her son had now reached the period of manhood, for a very few days would see him of age. It was as desirable for him as for her, that he should have another home open to him where he might hope for peace and tranquillity; and every thought strengthened her determination, and gave her vigour and force to carry it into execution. Had anything been wanting, the words with which Sir Francis Tyrrell opened their interview would have been sufficient to render that resolution irrevocable. "I intrude upon your privacy, madam," he said, "for the purpose of informing you that I have been made aware of the conduct which my son Charles--doubtless under your wise consent, approbation, and direction--has thought fit to pursue towards Miss Effingham; and I wish you to know and fully understand the consequences which such conduct naturally produces." "I am really unaware, sir," replied Lady Tyrrell, "of what you allude to. I hope and believe that Charles would do nothing towards Lucy Effingham which could at all merit his father's displeasure."