She had an instinctive perception that Mrs. Sundon, however grateful and concerned that Lady Bell should not suffer by her magnanimity, would be too much taken up with Mrs. Sundon’s own husband, with enlarging to him on the risk he had run, and the necessity of prudence in his future movements, to enter at once into a searching investigation of what had become of Lady Bell, and an eager tracking of her footsteps. After Mrs. Sundon had discovered that Lady Bell had not waited, but had gone with as little ceremony as she had come, Mrs. Sundon would naturally conclude that she had returned immediately to her husband, to prevent all suspicion, and to carry out her programme. For Lady Bell’s own sake, Mrs. Sundon would resolve to be quiet on the incident of her visit. Lady Bell reckoned herself secure of not being missed by her husband for hours; and so soon as she was beyond the town the probability of her being recognised was lessened. She could venture to walk more slowly, and not wear out her strength at starting, to raise her veil, to push down the neckcloth wound about her chin and mouth, and allow herself a breath of the cool autumn air, in the fever heat of her progress, and the agitation which had attended on her adventure. It was in the latter end of the month of September, but the season and weather were fine, and there were still hours of daylight. Lady Bell was furnished with money; she had got an ample sum to spend at Peasmarsh. The idea which had been in her head when she had still thought of confiding her case to Mrs. Sundon, and bespeaking her support, was to be put in the way of reaching London as speedily as possible. When in London she might apply to any survivor of Lady Lucie’s friends to hide her from Squire Trevor and his vengeance, to procure for her a separation from him, to help her to get her own livelihood. This would no longer be by the poorest place at Court—Lady Bell had resigned that aristocratic resource—Queen Charlotte was too good and happy a wife herself to pardon readily the errors of a miserable young wife. But Lady Bell’s vision had enlarged so that she conceived—Lady Bell though she was, she might be _dame de compagnie_ to some old lady of quality, on the model of Lady Lucie Penruddock. Or she might turn her little talents and accomplishments, the frivolousness of which had been so scouted, to use, after all, by imparting them to the children of some great house. Her imagination had grown, like everything else about her (she was half an inch taller since her marriage), though even her imagination could not persuade her that the bread of service would taste anything save bitter to a woman of her degree, but it would be less bitter than what she had eaten at Trevor Court and St. Bevis’s, and bitter as it might be, it was all the bread that remained to her, unless she were willing to go back and be killed by Squire Trevor.