“You saw him, Peter—­will he return?”

Peter was busily occupied at his glasses, although no one was dry.

“Peter,” repeated Mr. Benfield, rising from his seat; “is he coming in time for supper?”

Peter was obliged to reply, and deliberately uncasing his eyes and blowing his nose, he was on the point of opening his mouth, as John came into the room, and threw himself into a chair with an air of great vexation.  Peter pointed to the young gentleman in silence, and retired.

“John,” cried Sir Edward, “where is Denbigh?”

“Gone, sir.”

“Gone!”

“Yes, my dear father,” said John, “gone without saying good-bye to one of us—­without telling us whither, or when to return.  It was cruel in him—–­ unkind—­I’ll never forgive him”—­and John, whose feelings were strong, and unusually excited, hid his face between his hands on the table.—­As he raised his head to reply to a question of Mr. Benfield—­of “how he knew he had gone, for the coach did not go until daylight?” Mrs. Wilson saw evident marks of tears.  Such proofs of emotion in one like John Moseley gave her the satisfaction of knowing that if she had been deceived, it was by a concurrence of circumstances and a depth of hypocrisy almost exceeding belief:  self-reproach added less than common, therefore, to the uneasiness of the moment.

“I saw the innkeeper, uncle,” said John, “who told me that Denbigh left there at eight o’clock in a post-chaise and four; but I will go to London in the morning myself.”  This was no sooner said than it was corroborated by acts, for the young man immediately commenced his preparations for the journey.  The family separated that evening with melancholy hearts; and the host and his privy counsellor were closeted for half an hour ere they retired to their night’s repose.  John took his leave of them, and left the lodge for the inn, with his man, in order to be ready for the mail.  Mrs, Wilson looked in upon Emily before she withdrew herself, and found her awake, but perfectly calm and composed:  she said but little, appearing desirous of avoiding all allusions to Denbigh; and after her aunt had simply acquainted her with his departure, and her resolution to conceal the cause, the subject was dropped.  Mrs. Wilson, on entering her own room, thought deeply on the discoveries of the day:  they had interfered with her favorite system of morals, baffled her ablest calculations upon causes and effects, but in no degree had impaired her faith or reliance on Providence.  She knew one exception did not destroy a rule:  she was certain without principles there was no security for good conduct, and the case of Denbigh proved it.  To discover these principles, might be difficult; but was a task imperiously required at her hands, as she believed, ere she yielded the present and future happiness of her pupil to the power of any man.

Chapter XXIX.