A long miserable week wore itself slowly out after the night in which Francis Tredethlyn had turned his back upon a house which he had never been allowed to find a home. Through all the week there were no tidings of Maude’s departed husband; but when the week was over, a formal letter from Mr. Kursdale acquainted her with Mr. Tredethlyn’s arrangements for her welfare, and with the fact that he had embarked the day before on board the steam-vessel _Kingfisher_, bound for Buenos Ayres. The news inflicted as great a shock upon Maude as if her husband’s letter announcing his intended departure had never been written. To the last she had believed, that when the time for action came, his resolution would fail him all at once, and he would hurry back to her, faithful and devoted as in the earliest days of their brief married life, when he had nursed her Skye terriers, and sat patiently for an hour at a stretch in a haberdasher’s shop while she selected ribands and laces. She had written him a penitent letter, and had enclosed it to Mr. Kursdale, entreating that gentleman to deliver it to his client whenever he saw him. She had not thought it possible that, even if Francis persisted in his intention of leaving England, he would leave without an interview with his solicitor. But when Maude drove post-haste to Gray’s Inn, and presented herself in the lawyer’s office, she found that there had been no interview. Francis had communicated with his solicitor by letter only, and his clear and concise epistle bore the date of the very day on which he was to start for Plymouth, whence the _Kingfisher_ was to sail. The letter thus dated had arrived at the lawyer’s office after business hours; and when Mr. Kursdale opened it next morning, there was little doubt that the _Kingfisher_ was outward bound with Francis Tredethlyn on board her. Maude made a confidant of her husband’s solicitor. A family lawyer is a kind of father confessor in the matter of secrets, and has generally outlived the capacity of surprise as completely as those imperturbable disciples of St. Ignatius Loyola who are irreverently entitled “crows.” The despondent wife told Mr. Kursdale that Francis had left home in consequence of a slight misunderstanding--(was any conjugal quarrel ever yet described by the belligerents as anything _more_ than a slight misunderstanding?)--and she implored him to assist her in bringing about her husband’s speedy return. “But do you think he has really sailed?” she asked; “do you think he can have been so cruel as to leave England without even giving me the opportunity of imploring him to remain?” Mr. Kursdale shook his head gravely.