“Dear Uncle, yes, perhaps. But to give them every chance, to make them feel quite at ease and unhampered, I think they should be left to themselves.” “I will not interfere with them,” he cried; “I will not meddle between them. Once I have accepted a thing, Meg, I accept it fully. You might know me enough for that.” “I never doubted you, Uncle; but there is more: I think, dear Uncle Giles, I must go away.” “You--go away!” he said, looking up at her, his loose lips beginning to quiver; “you--go away! Why, Meg, you can be of more use here than ever. You can show her how to--how to--why, bless us, we all know, after all, that though she’s Mrs. Piercey, she was only, only--well, nobody, Meg! you know--don’t bother me with names. She is nobody. She can’t know how to--to behave herself even. I looked to you to---- Dunning, be off with you: look after Master Osy. I know it’s wrong to speak before servants, Meg, but Dunning’s not exactly a servant, he knows everything; he has heard everything discussed.” “Too much, I fear,” said Margaret half to herself. “Dear Uncle, perhaps you have not considered that mine has always been rather a doubtful position. I am your niece, and you have always been like my father, but Gervase’s wife thinks me only a dependant. One can’t wonder at it--neither mistress nor servant. She thinks a little as the servants do. I am only here as a dependant. She will not take a hint from me. She will be better without me here. For one thing, she would think I was watching her, and making unkind remarks, however innocent I might be. It is best, indeed it is best, dear Uncle, that I should go.” “Go! away from Greyshott, Meg!--why, why! Greyshott--you have always been at Greyshott.” “Yes, Uncle Giles, thanks to you; dear Uncle Giles, when I was an orphan, and had no one, you have done everything for me; but now the best thing I can do for you is to go away. Oh, I know it, and am sure of it; everything will go better without me. You may imagine I don’t like to think that, but it is true.” There was an interval, during which the old man was quite broken down, and Dunning, rushing to his master’s side, shot reproachful speeches, as well as glances, at Mrs. Osborne. “It appears,” said Dunning, “that I’m never believed to know nothink, not even my own dooty to my master; but those as comes to him with disagreeable stories and complaints, and that just at this critical moment in the middle of his trouble, poor gentleman, knows less than me. Come, Sir Giles. Compose yourself, Sir Giles. I’ll have to give you some of your drops, and you know as you don’t like ’em, if you don’t take things more easy, Sir Giles.” “I’m better,” said the old gentleman, feebly; “better, better. But, Meg, you’ve got no money--how are you to live without money, Meg?” “I have my pension, uncle.” “A pension! what is a pension? It isn’t enough for anything. Even your poor aunt always allowed that.” “It is enough to live on, Uncle--for Osy and me.”