The crisis upon which Miss Rodney had resolved came about, quite unexpectedly, one Sunday evening.  Mrs. Turpin and her daughters had gone, as usual, to church, the carpenter had gone to smoke a pipe with a neighbour, and Mr. Rawcliffe believed himself alone in the house.  But Miss Rodney was not at church this evening; she had a headache, and after tea lay down in her bedroom for a while.  Soon impatient of repose, she got up and went to her parlour.  The door, to her surprise, was partly open; entering—­the tread of her slippered feet was noiseless—­she beheld an astonishing spectacle.  Before her writing-table, his back turned to her, stood Mr. Rawcliffe, engaged in the deliberate perusal of a letter which he had found there.  For a moment she observed him; then she spoke.

‘What business have you here?’

Rawcliffe gave such a start that he almost jumped from the ground.  His face, as he put down the letter and turned, was that of a gibbering idiot; his lips moved, but no sound came from them.

‘What are you doing in my room?’ demanded Miss Rodney, in her severest tones.

‘I really beg your pardon—­I really beg—­’

‘I suppose this is not the first visit with which you have honoured me?’

’The first—­indeed—­I assure you—­the very first!  A foolish curiosity; I really feel quite ashamed of myself; I throw myself upon your indulgence.’

The man had become voluble; he approached Miss Rodney smiling in a sickly way, his head bobbing forward.

‘It’s something,’ she replied, ’that you have still the grace to feel ashamed.  Well, there’s no need for us to discuss this matter; it can have, of course, only one result.  To-morrow morning you will oblige me by giving notice to Mrs. Turpin—­a week’s notice.’

‘Leave the house?’ exclaimed Rawcliffe.

‘On Saturday next—­or as much sooner as you like.’

‘Oh! but really—­’

‘As you please,’ said Miss Rodney, looking him sternly in the face.  ’In that case I complain to the landlady of your behaviour, and insist on her getting rid of you.  You ought to have been turned out long ago.  You are a nuisance, and worse than a nuisance.  Be so good as to leave the room.’

Rawcliffe, his shoulders humped, moved towards the door; but before reaching it he stopped and said doggedly—­

‘I can’t give notice.’

‘Why not?’

‘I owe Mrs. Turpin money.’

‘Naturally.  But you will go, all the same.’

A vicious light flashed into the man’s eyes.

‘If it comes to that, I shall not go!’

‘Indeed?’ said Miss Rodney calmly and coldly.  ’We will see about it.  In the meantime, leave the room, sir!’

Rawcliffe nodded, grinned, and withdrew.

Late that evening there was a conversation between Miss Rodney and Mrs. Turpin.  The landlady, though declaring herself horrified at what had happened, did her best to plead for Mr. Rawcliffe’s forgiveness, and would not be brought to the point of promising to give him notice.