He was rather curtly informed that she had been dismissed from her 'sitivation,' and with her trunk had left the house a short time ago. 'Dismissed and gone--where?' 'No one in the house knew.' He turned away in great agony of mind; and he had in his haste forgotten to ask Archie where he lived. He looked about him in every direction, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. And so she would be utterly homeless now. _Homeless_, and in London--and she so young, so tender, and beautiful! Alas! more evils than ever the fatal Black Hound of Essilmont forebode might be in store for his Alison now. CHAPTER XXI. CONCLUSION. So she was out in the world once more, with apparently no earthly tie to bind her to it. 'Could I but see Bevil's face once more and then die!' was her thought, as, blinded with the hot tears that flowed under her veil, she was driven through the sunny and crowded streets of pleasant Bayswater. We have said that the vicar of Chilcote was now in town; he had brought his family with him, and was residing in private apartments not far from Pembridge Square, and overlooking Kensington Gardens. Thus Alison's first thoughts--indeed her only resource--was to throw herself upon him as she had before intended; but now she was terrified that, if he naturally made inquiries of Mrs. De Jobbyns, in the spirit of sourness or malevolence she might give a very distorted account of the late episode; and, indeed, the worthy old man was greatly disturbed when she told him her simple tale, as the same ideas occurred to himself, and he saw all the peril of giving the name of that irate matron as a reference to anyone else; and thus for two entire days he remained in sore perplexity what to do. On the third he began again to question Alison, whom he kept with his family. 'And the portrait which caused this grotesque disturbance--the portrait of this gentleman is that of your _fiancé_?' he asked. 'Yes.' 'Were you engaged to him with your father's consent?' asked he, suspiciously, while he regarded her keenly, but not unkindly, under his shaggy, white eyebrows. 'No--to my sorrow be it said,' replied Alison, with a little hesitation. 'That seems wrong--why?' 'He was not rich enough then to suit papa's views, having little more than his pay.' '_Then_--is he rich now?' 'Yes--more than rich--even wealthy.' 'And has he since sought you out?' 'No,' sobbed Alison. The vicar shook his white head and groaned. 'What is his name?' he asked, and Alison told him. 'Goring--Goring,' said he, pulling his nether lip thoughtfully; 'I have heard the name. He called on me more than once to ask your London address, as also did Lord Cadbury of Cadbury Court; but suspecting his object, I declined to give it.' 'Oh, why?' 'He is an officer--and officers are often wild and unscrupulous fellows. You are young, more than most attractive, and are without a protector--you understand?' 'Oh, sir, how you have wronged him!'