The parson, wondering, saw him sort his papers and lay them aside, then ring the bell, and again send for Margery. Sir David looked at her for a brief moment as she stood before him apparently wrapt in her usual smug composure, but, by the twitching of her hands and the furtive working of her lips, betraying some hidden agitation. “Margery Nutmeg,” said her master then, “in an hour you leave my house and my service.” A sudden livid fury came over the woman’s face. But David’s gesture, his determined speech bore down the inarticulate protest that broke from her. “It is useless to attempt to make me alter my decision. I know how you have considered me bound by promise to your husband, and how you have traded upon it. That promise, in so far as I consider it binding, I shall keep till you die. You shall receive fit and sufficient maintenance from me. But in my house or upon my estate you shall dwell no more.” He dismissed her with a wave of the hand, merely adding: “If you present yourself at the bailiffs office in an hour, you will receive your money. Go!” And Margery went, without another word. “Ah, David,” said the reverend Horatio admiringly, “had you but done this earlier!” And in his heart was the thought, based upon too unsubstantial ground to put it into words: “Then things would surely not stand now at this pass!” Sir David made no reply. He did not even seem to hear. He was seated at his writing table, inditing a letter of reply to Colonel Harcourt’s friend. As he wrote, the crimson of a deep, slow-burning resentment mounted to his face. Lady Lochore’s enforced departure fitted in well enough in her mind with the new turn of events. Now that Master Simon was dead, Ellinor’s residence at Bindon became an impossibility so soon as she herself had gone. To be sure Madam Tutterville might give her niece harbourage; but Lady Lochore was quite satisfied that if she had failed to convince the rector of Mrs. Marvel’s frailty the rector’s wife had been more easy to deal with. Therefore she hurried on her preparations with a sick desire to escape from surroundings charged with such ugly memories. Even as the four horses drew the travelling chaise up to the door she stood ready in the hall, feverishly hustling her servants. Sir David was there too, attentive to speed his sister’s parting, but certes, with even less warmth than he had welcomed her arrival. She spoke her bitterly sarcastic word of thanks. He answered by the cold wish that her health might have been benefited, according to her hopes, by her visit to her home of old. This time even the kiss upon the hand was omitted. But as he was leading her across the threshold, her mood changed hysterically: