As I looked from the window upon the slanting rain and leaden sky, and thought of the hated interview that awaited me, I pressed my hand to my troubled heart, and murmured, 'O that I had wings like a dove! then would I flee away, and be at rest.' Just then the prattle of the parrot struck my ear. I looked round on the wire cage, and remembered the words, 'The bird's name is Maud.' 'Poor bird!' I said. 'I dare say, Milly, it longs to get out. If it were a native of this country, would not you like to open the window, and then the door of that cruel cage, and let the poor thing fly away?' 'Master wants Miss Maud,' said Wyat's disagreeable tones, at the half-open door. I followed in silence, with the pressure of a near alarm at my heart, like a person going to an operation. When I entered the room, my heart beat so fast that I could hardly speak. The tall form of Uncle Silas rose before me, and I made him a faltering reverence. He darted from under his brows a wild, fierce glance at old Wyat, and pointed to the door imperiously with his skeleton finger. The door shut, and we were alone. 'A chair?' he said, pointing to a seat. 'Thank you, uncle, I prefer standing,' I faltered. He also stood--his white head bowed forward, the phosphoric glare of his strange eyes shone upon me from under his brows--his finger-nails just rested on the table. 'You saw the luggage corded and addressed, as it stands ready for removal in the hall?' he asked. I had. Milly and I had read the cards which dangled from the trunk-handles and gun-case. The address was--'Mr. Dudley R. Ruthyn, Paris, _viâ_ Dover.' 'I am old--agitated--on the eve of a decision on which much depends. Pray relieve my suspense. Is my son to leave Bartram to-day in sorrow, or to remain in joy? Pray answer quickly.' I stammered I know not what. I was incoherent--wild, perhaps; but somehow I expressed my meaning--my unalterable decision. I thought his lips grew whiter and his eyes shone brighter as I spoke. When I had quite made an end, he heaved a great sigh, and turning his eyes slowly to the right and the left, like a man in a helpless distraction, he whispered-- 'God's will be done.' I thought he was upon the point of fainting--a clay tint darkened the white of his face; and, seeming to forget my presence, he sat down, looking with a despairing scowl on his ashy old hand, as it lay upon the table. I stood gazing at him, feeling almost as if I had murdered the old man--he still gazing askance, with an imbecile scowl, upon his hand. 'Shall I go, sir?' I at length found courage to whisper. '_Go?_' he said, looking up suddenly; and it seemed to me as if a stream of cold sheet-lightning had crossed and enveloped me for a moment. 'Go?--oh!--a--yes--_yes_, Maud--go. I must see poor Dudley before his departure,' he added, as it were, in soliloquy. Trembling lest he should revoke his permission to depart, I glided quickly and noiselessly from the room.