’I don’t know as I’m mate to you, nor yet to no one like you.  And as to what’s up, I’ve told you all as I’m bade to tell you; and I ain’t a-going to tell you no more.  You can’t turn your horses there You’d better drive round into the village, and there you’ll get the high-road back to Cambridge.’  Then the gardener retreated within a little gate of his own which led from the lane into the precincts close to his own cottage.  The man was an honest, loyal old fanatic, who would scruple at nothing in carrying out the orders of his mistress in so good a cause.  And personally his feelings had been acerbated in that he had been called ‘mate’ by a man not half his age.

The coachman did as he was bid, seeing before him no other possible course.  He could not leave his horses.  But when he was in front of the iron gates he stopped and examined the premises.  The gates were old, and were opened and closed at ordinary times by an ordinary ancient lock.  But now there was a chain passed in and out with a padlock,—­evidently placed there to prevent him from entering in opposition to the gardener’s instructions.  There was clearly no course open to him but to drive the carriage back to his master.

At a quarter before twelve Hester left her own room,—­which looked backwards into the garden, as did all the pleasanter rooms of the house,—­with the intention of seating herself in a spare room looking out to the front, from which she could have seen the carriage as it entered the gate.  Had she so seen it she would certainly have called to the man from the window when he was standing in the road.  But the door of that front room was locked against her; and when she tried the other she found that all the front rooms were locked.  She knew the house, of course, as well as did her mother, and she rushed up to the attics where the servants occupied the rooms looking out to the road.  But they, too, were locked against her.  Then it flashed upon her that the attempt to make her a prisoner was to be carried out through every possible detail.

What should she do?  Her husband would come of course; but what if he were unable to force an entrance?  And how could he force it?  Would the police help him?  Would the magistrates help him?  She knew that the law was on her side, and on his,—­that the law would declare him to be her lord and owner till the law should have separated them.  But would the law allow itself to be used readily for this purpose?  She, too, could understand that the feeling of the community would be against her, and that in such a case the law might allow itself to become slow, lethargic, and perhaps inoperative, yielding to the popular feeling.  She saw the points which were strong against her as clearly as William and Robert Bolton had seen those which were strong on their side.  But——!  As she stood there beating her foot angrily on the floor of the passage, she made up her mind that there should be more than one ‘but’ in his favour.  If they kept her, they should have to lock her up as in a dungeon; they and all the neighbourhood should hear her voice.  They should be driven to do such things that the feeling of the community would be no longer on their side.