But as the vehicle disappeared among the trees of the avenue she shrank away, to stand thinking of her position, of Garstang's words, and how it seemed now that her girlish life had come to an end that day. For she felt that she was alone, and that henceforth she must knit herself together to fight the battle of her life, strong in her womanly defence, for her future depended entirely upon herself. And through the rest of that unhappy afternoon and evening, as she sat there, resisting all requests to come down, and taking nothing but some slight refreshment brought up by her maid, she was trying to solve the problem constantly before her: What should she do now? CHAPTER TWELVE. Kate was not the only one at the Manor House who declined to come down to dinner. The bell had rung, and after Mrs Wilton had been up twice to her niece's room, and reported the ill success of her visits to her lord, Wilton growled out: "Well, I want my dinner. Let her stay and starve herself into her senses. But here," he cried, with a fresh burst of temper, "why the devil isn't that boy here? I'm not going to be kept waiting for him. Do you hear? Where is he?" "He was so ill, dear, he said he was obliged to go upstairs and lie down." "Bah! Rubbish! He wasn't hurt." "Oh, my dear, you don't know," sobbed Mrs Wilton. "Yah! You cry if you dare. Wipe your eyes. Think I haven't had worry enough to-day without you trying to lay the dust? Ring and tell Samuel to fetch him down." "Oh, pray don't do that, dear; the servants will talk enough as it is." "They'd better. I'll discharge the lot. I've been too easy with everybody up to now, and I'll begin to turn over a new leaf. Stand aside, woman, and let me get to that bell." "No, no, don't, pray don't ring. Let me go up and beg of him to come down." "What! Beg? Go up and tell him that if he don't come down to dinner in a brace of shakes I'll come and fetch him with a horsewhip." "James, my dear, pray, pray don't be so violent." "But I will be violent. I am in no humour to be dictated to now. I'll let some of you see that I'm master." "But poor dear Claud is so big now." "I don't care how big he is--a great stupid oaf! Go and tell him what I say. And look here, woman." "Yes, dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively. "I mean it. If he don't come at once, big as he is, I'll take up the horsewhip." Mrs Wilton stifled a sob, and went up to her son's room and entered, to find him lying on his bed with his boots resting on the bottom rail, a strong odour of tobacco pervading the room, and a patch or two of cigar ashes soiling the counterpane. "Claud, my dearest, you shouldn't smoke up here," she said, tenderly, as she laid her hand upon her son's forehead. "How are you now, darling?" "Damned bad." "Oh, not quite so bad as that, dearest. Dinner is quite ready." "--The dinner!"