Piercey in the hall; but in the restlessness of a disturbed mind she came down again about an hour afterwards, partly to put a stop, for a time, to that endless argument, partly to write a letter which she had promised, to inform Lady Hartmore of what had happened, and partly, perhaps, out of that curiosity and painful inclination to hasten a catastrophe which comes to the mind in the storms of existence. It is true that she had made up her mind to leave Greyshott, but she could not do so as Gerald, a visitor, did, nor was she sure how she could best arrange her retirement with dignity and composure. She felt that there must be no semblance of a quarrel, nor would she make matters worse for Gervase’s wife by allowing it to appear to the county that her first act had been to drive Gervase’s cousin out of the house. She had decided to wait a little, to endure the new régime until she could quietly detach herself without any shock to her old uncle or commotion in the house. Yet it cannot be denied that Margaret’s nerves were very much disturbed, and that she was conscious of Patty’s entrance while she sat writing her letter, and felt her heart jump when that active, bustling little step became again and again audible. Margaret was seated with her back to the door, but the sound of this step, returning and returning, betrayed to her very clearly the impatience with which her presence was regarded. And her letter did not make much progress. She foresaw the coming attack, and she did not forestall it as she might have done by going away. At last a voice as sharp as the step broke the listening silence of the room.

      “Margaret Osborne! how long are you going to be writing that letter? The housemaids are waiting, and I must have this room thoroughly done out. It wants it, I am sure! Oh, take your time! but if you will let me know about when you are likely to be done – ”

      “I can finish my letter upstairs, if it is necessary,” Margaret said, turning round.

      “Well, I think generally that is the best way. The library’s generally supposed to be the gentlemen’s room in a house. I mean to have the drawing-room put in order, and to use that, as it ought to be used. But not just this week, and poor mother so lately buried. I don’t know what your feelings may be, but I can’t sit in a dingy place like this,” Patty said. “Oh, take your time,” she added, with fine irony; “but if you could tell me within half an hour or so when you are likely to have done – ”

      “I will finish my letter in my own room.”

      “If I was you,” said Patty, “I’d write them all there in future. New folks make new ways. I am very particular about my house. I like everything kept in its proper place – and every person,” she added significantly. “The servants can’t serve two masters. That is in the Bible, you know, so it must be true.”

      “I do not think,” said Margaret, with a faint smile, “that you will be troubled by their devotion to me.”

      “No; I suppose you have let yourself be put upon,” said Patty; “because, though you think yourself one of the family, you ain’t exactly one of the family, and, of course, they see that. It’s not good for a houseful of servants to have a sort of a lady, neither one thing nor another, neither a mistress nor a servant, in the house. It teaches them to be disrespectful to their betters, because they know you can’t do anything to them. I would rather pension poor relations off than have them about the house putting everything out.”

      “It will not be necessary in my case,” cried Margaret, with a sudden flame of anger and shame enveloping her all over. “I had fully intended to leave Greyshott, but wished to avoid any appearance of – any shock to my uncle.”

      “Oh, take your time!” cried Patty, with a toss of her head; and she called to the housemaids, who appeared timorous and undecided at the door. “Come here, and I’ll show how I wish you to settle all this in future,” she said. “Oh, Mrs. Osborne’s going! You needn’t mind for her.”

      CHAPTER XXXI

      It was not worth while to be angry. She had known, of course, all along, how it must be. There had been no thought in her mind of resistance, of remaining in Greyshott as Patty’s companion, of appealing to her uncle against the new mistress of the house. It had not been a very happy home for Margaret at any time; though, while Lady Piercey lived, it was a sure one, as well as habitual, – the only place that seemed natural to her, and to which she belonged. Perhaps, she said to herself, as she went hurriedly upstairs, with that sense of the intolerable which a little insult brings almost more keenly than a great sorrow, it was better that the knot should thus be cut for her by an alert and decisive hand, and no uncertainty left on the subject. She went into her room quickly, with a “wind in her going,” a sweep of her skirts, an action and movement about her which was unlike her usual composure. Sarah was alone in her room, not seated quietly at work as was her wont, but standing at the window looking out upon some scene below. There was a corner of the stable yard visible from one window of Margaret’s rooms, which were far from being the best rooms in the house.

      “Where is Master Osy?” Mrs. Osborne said.

      “He is with Sir Giles, ma’am. I – I was just taking a glance from the window before I began my work – ”

      “Sarah,” said Margaret, “we shall have to begin our packing immediately. We are going away.” How difficult it was not to say a little more – not to relieve the burden of her indignation with a word or two! for, indeed, there was nobody whom she could speak to except this round-faced girl, who looked up half frightened, half sympathetic, into her face.

      “Oh, ma’am, to leave Greyshott! Where are you a-going to?” Sarah said; and her open mouth and eyes repeated with dismay the same question, fixed upon Margaret’s face.

      “Shall you be so sorry to leave Greyshott?” said Mrs. Osborne.

      Sarah hung her head. She took her handkerchief from her pocket, and twisted it into a knot; finally the quick-coming tears rolled over her round cheeks. “Oh, ma’am!” she cried, and could say no more. A nurserymaid’s tears do not seem a very tragic addition to any trouble, and yet they came upon Margaret with all the force of a new misfortune.

      “What is it, Sarah? Is it leaving Jim? is that why you cry?”

      “Oh, we was to be married at Christmas,” the girl cried, in a passion of tears.

      “Then you meant to leave me, Sarah? Why didn’t you tell me so? Well, of course, I should not hinder your marriage, my good girl; but Christmas is six months off, and you will stay with Master Osy, won’t you, till that time comes?”

      Sarah became inarticulate with crying, but shook her head, though she could not speak.

      “No! – do you mean no? I thought you were fond of us,” said poor Margaret, quite broken down by this unexpected desertion. It was of no importance, no importance! she said to herself; but, nevertheless, it gave her a sting.

      “Oh, don’t ask me, ma’am, don’t ask me! So I am, fond: there never was a nicer lady. But how do I know as Jim – they changes so, they changes so, does men!” Sarah cried, among her tears.

      “Well, well; you will pack for me, at least,” said Margaret, with a faint laugh, “if that is how we are to part, Sarah, – but you must begin at once; no more looking out of the window, for a little while, at least. But Jim is a good fellow. He will be faithful – till Christmas.” She laughed again; was it as the usual alternative to crying? or was it because there are junctures of utter forlornness and solitude to which a laugh responds better than any crying? not less sadly, one may be sure.

      Sarah dried her streaming eyes, but continued to shake her head. “It’s out o’ sight out of mind with most of ’em,” she said. “I’ll have to go and get the boxes, ma’am, and I don’t know who there is to fetch ’em up, unless I might call Jim – and the others, they don’t like to see a groom a-coming into the house.”

      “Then let the others do it, Sarah.”

      “Oh, Mrs. Osborne! they won’t go agin the – the new lady, as they calls her. Oh, they calls her just Patty and nasty names among themselves, but if you asks them to do a thing, they says, ‘We wasn’t hired to work for the likes of you and your Missus, Sal.’ Not a better word from one o’ them men,” cried Sarah, “not one