"I thought it so strange he did not write," said Virgie, knitting puzzled brows. "But, Grover, they have no right to do such things! Even if mamma thinks, as she seems to think, that he--Mr. Gaunt--is not--I mean, if she does not like him, and does not want me to go away, she has no right to tamper with letters, do you think?" "It's not for me, ma'am, to pass any remarks upon what your mamma does. But I think it is for me to let you know she done it," replied Grover, with demure emphasis. Virgie could not help smiling, in spite of her tumultuous emotions. Grover proved a most able accomplice and conspirator. She duly brought tea to Mrs. Mynors next morning, and said, in subdued tones, that Mrs. Gaunt had not passed a very good night. She was now sleeping, and had better not be disturbed. Would Mrs. Mynors mind slipping downstairs without coming into her room? This had the desired effect. The elder Virginia departed for her little jaunt to town--travelling by the first-class-only express--with a perfectly serene mind. Virginia the younger was, she felt convinced, wholly contented with her bed for that day. Grover meanwhile completed her preparations with the utmost composure. She went down, paid the landlady, and explained to her that Mrs. Gaunt was called home unexpectedly, and wanted to slip away without distressing the little lady. Noiselessly the trunks were carried downstairs, noiselessly though, with beating heart, Virginia followed. It was not until Worthing was left behind; not, indeed, until they had passed, safe and unrecognised, through London, that she could relax the tension of her will. Now the die was cast. She had chosen. She was doing what she firmly believed to be right. Once before, when in straits, she had taken a way out which seemed the only way, but which she yet knew to be unworthy of her. Now she was blindly doing the hard thing because it was the right thing. The consequences were not in her hands. CHAPTER XXV THE RETURN "_With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet, and many a tear, In our opposed paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West, we will not say There's any hope, it is so far away._"--Coventry Patmore. The rain which had so interfered with Rosenberg's plans, and spoiled the close of the motoring day, seemed to mark also the end of summer. The weather ever since had been grey and autumnal. In Derbyshire the change was more marked than in Sussex. A wild wind moaned in the black pines of Omberleigh, and brown leaves drifted upon the blast as Gaunt rode forth to Sessions that Wednesday morning.