"Begone!" said Mrs. Gaunt: "and, this time, for ever. Ruffian, and fool, I loathe the sight of you." Rose ran weeping to her. "Oh, mamma, don't quarrel with papa:" then back to Griffith, "Oh, papa, don't quarrel with mamma--for my sake." Griffith hung his head, and said, in a broken voice: "No, my lamb, we twain must not quarrel before thee. We will part in silence, as becomes those that once were dear, and have thee to show for't. Madam, I wish you all health and happiness. Adieu." He turned on his heel; and Mrs. Gaunt took Rose to her knees, and bent and wept over her. Niobe over her last was not more graceful, nor more sad. As for Ryder she stole quietly after her retiring master. She found him peering about, and asked him demurely what he was looking for. "My good black horse, girl, to take me from this cursed place. Did I not tie him to your gate?" "The black horse? Why I sent him for Father Francis. Nay, listen to me, master; you know I was always your friend, and hard upon her. Well, since you went, things have come to pass that make me doubt. I do begin to fear you were too hasty." "Do you tell me this now, woman?" cried Griffith, furiously. "How could I tell you before? Why did you break your tryst with me? If you had come according to your letter, I'd have told you months ago what I tell you now; but, as I was saying, the priest never came near her after you left; and she never stirred abroad to meet him. More than that, he has left England." "Remorse! Too late." "Perhaps it may, sir. I couldn't say; but there is one coming that knows the very truth." "Who is that?" "Father Francis. The moment you came, sir, I took it on me to send for him. You know the man: he won't tell a lie to please our Dame. And he knows all: for Leonard has confessed to him. I listened and heard him say as much. Then, master, be advised, and get the truth from Father Francis." Griffith trembled. "Francis is an honest man," said he; "I'll wait till he comes. But oh, my lass, I find money may be bought too dear." "Your chamber is ready, sir; and your clothes put out. Supper is ordered. Let me show you your room. We are all so happy now." "Well," said he, listlessly, "since my horse is gone, and Francis coming, and I'm wearied and sick of the world, do what you will with me for this one day." He followed her mechanically to a bedroom, where was a bright fire, and a fine shirt, and his silver-laced suit of clothes airing. A sense of luxurious comfort struck him at the sight. "Ay," he said, "I'll dress, and so to supper; I'm main hungry. It seems a man must eat, let his heart be ever so sore." Before she left him, Ryder asked him coldly why he had broken his appointment with her. "That is too long a story to tell you now," said he, coolly. "Another time then," said she; and went out smiling, but bitter at heart.