Susan kept in the kitchen, hovering about the window, very anxious, but afraid, to ask questions, and listening to this volunteer gossip with all her ears. Peggy answered very brusquely to the inferred question of Horace's messenger. "You may depend the family doesn't need to ask you," said Peggy. "Mak' haste, man, about your ain business--no wonder the wife has little patience if this is how you put off your time. How will ye send on the box?--that's all I'm wanting to hear." "Oh, just by the carrier--to the 'George' at Kenlisle--it's none so far away either," said John; "if the family wanted word sent particular, I could goo a' the way mysel.'" As he made this offer he threw an inquisitive glance at Susan, whose restless attention he had skill enough to perceive. Peggy's answer was a violent shake of her head, as she went on with her work. John resumed. "Our wife, she thinks it's a very strange thing that these three should be away at the same moment, as you may say. Not to compare our Sam to the young gentlemen, but you see Sam had a word himself with the Cornel. As for the young squire, he was coming and going the whole time, and Mr. Horry, he's nevvy to th' ould gentleman, as far as I can hear. It's a rael coorious thing--they all had speech o' the Cornel, and all started off on the same day. Maybe you and the young lady you ken a deal better nor that--but ye'll allow it's an awfu' coorious thing." While John, pausing, looked for an answer, in calm security of having said something which could not fail to make an impression; while Peggy, with her back to him, vigorously washed her dishes, clattering one upon another with emphasis, which, however, did not drown his voice, and was not intended to do so; and while Susan stood timidly with her work in her hand, startled with this new piece of intelligence, and looking towards the stranger with a face full of wonder, a sudden sound startled the vigilant ear of Peggy. But she had scarcely time to put down the dinner-plate in her hand, and to wave her towel at John Gilsland, commanding imperatively a hasty retreat, when the door of the kitchen suddenly flew open, and Mr. Scarsdale himself, pale, erect, and passionate, his dressing-gown flying wide around him with "the wind of his going," his thin lips set together, and an expression of restrained and silent fury in his face, came abruptly into the room.