William did not like it, either; it was an advantage that Robert Carr had no right to take. Had the girl forgotten herself at last, and gone off with him? Too surely he felt that such must be the case. He saw how it was. They had not chosen to get into the coach at Westerbury, fearing the scandal--fearing, perhaps, prevention; and Robert Carr had made use of this _ruse_ to get her away. That there would be enough scandal in Westerbury, as it was, he knew--that Mr. Arkell would be indignant, he also knew; and he himself would come in for a large portion of the blame. "Philip," he said, awaking from his reverie, "did the girl appear to go willingly?" "Willingly enough, sir, for the matter of that, for she came up of her own accord--but she was crying sadly." "Crying, was she?" "Crying dreadfully all the way across the field as she came up, and along in this carriage, and when she got into the coach. He tried to persuade and soothe her; but it wasn't of any good. She hid her face with her veil as well as she could, that the outside passengers mightn't see her state as she got in; and there was none o' the inside." William Arkell bit his lip. "Carr had no business to play me such a turn," he said aloud, in his vexation. "Mr. William, if I had known what he was up to last night, I should just have told the master, in spite of the half-sovereign he gave me." "Oh, he gave you one, did he?" "He gave me one last evening, and he gave me another this morning; but, for all that, I should have told, if I'd thought she was to be along of him. I know what the master is, and I know what he'll feel about the business. And the two other Miss Hughes's are industrious, respectable young women, and it's a shabby thing for Mr. Carr to go and do. A fine way they'll be in when they find the young one gone!" "They can't have known of it, I suppose," observed William, slowly, for a doubt had crossed his mind whether Robert could be taking the young girl away to marry her. "No, that they don't, sir," impulsively cried the man. "I heard him ask her whether she had got away without being seen; and she said she had, as well as she could speak for her tears." William Arkell, feeling more annoyed than he had ever felt in his life, not only on his own score, but on that of the girl herself, turned towards the manufactory with a slow step. The most obvious course now--indeed, the only honourable one--was to tell his father what he had just heard. He winced at having it to do, and a feeling of relief came over him, when he found that Mr. Arkell was engaged in his private room with some gentlemen, and he could not go in. There was to be also a further respite: for when they left Mr. Arkell went out with them. William did not see him again until they met at dinner, for Mr. Arkell only returned just in time for it. Charlotte Travice was rallying William for being "absent," "silent," asking him where his thoughts had gone; but he did not enlighten her.