"You will at least write to me, now and then, Phyllis?" "It will be better not." "Why? I have sworn not to see you again, but I must and will have some means of knowing whether you are dead or alive. Promise me that twice a year, once in every six months, you will let me have a letter. It is only a little thing to ask, out of all the happy past." "I promise. But you--will you stay here?" "Here?" he echoes, bitterly. "What do you take me for? In this house, where every room and book and flower would remind me of your sweet presence? No, we will leave it together: I shall look my last on it with you I will not stay to see it desolate and gray and cold without its mistress. You must let me be your escort to your new home, that people may have less to wonder at." "And where will you go?" "Abroad--India, Australia, America--anywhere: what does it matter? If I travelled to the ends of the earth, I could not fly my thoughts." "And"--timidly--"what of _her?_" "Nothing," he answers, roughly: "I will not talk of her again to _you_." There is a low, apologetic knock at the door. Instantly I seat myself on the sofa in as dignified an attitude as I can assume, considering my hair is all awry and my eyelids crimson. 'Duke lowers the lamp prudently, and falls back to the hearthrug, standing with his hands clasped carelessly behind him, before he says, in a clear, distinct tone:--- "Come in." "Dinner is served," announces Tynon, softly, with the vaguest, discreetest of coughs. How is it that servants always know everything? "Very good," returns Marmaduke, in his ordinary voice. "Let Mrs. Vernon know." Then, as though acting on a second thought:--- "Tynon." "Yes, sir." "It may be as well to let you know now that Mrs. Carrington and I are leaving home next week for some time. "Indeed, sir? yes, sir." Tynon's face is perfectly impassive, except at the extreme corners of the mouth: these being slightly down-drawn indicate regret and some distress. "We both feel much disappointed at being obliged to leave home at this particular time the Christmas season being so close at hand; but the business that takes us is important, and will admit of no delay. I shall leave behind me the usual sum of money for the poor, with an additional gift from Mrs. Carrington, which I will trust you and Mrs. Benson" (the housekeeper) "to see properly distributed." "Thank you, sir: it shall be carefully attended to." "I am quite sure of that," kindly. Then, with a return to the rather forced and stilted manner that has distinguished his foregoing speech, he goes on: "It is altogether uncertain when we shall be able to come back to Strangemore, as the business of which I speak will necessitate my going abroad; and as Mrs. Carrington's health will not allow her to accompany me, and as she has been ordered change of air, she will go to Hazelton, which she has not seen, and await my return there. You quite understand, Tynon?"