On the morning appointed for the purpose—­having taken leave of the ladies the day previously—­I proceeded to South Audley Street, to formally give up possession, under protest, however.  The niece and aunt were not yet gone.  This, I found, was owing to Martin, who, according to the ladies, was so beside himself with grief and rage that he had been unable to expedite as he ought to have done, the packing intrusted to his care.  I was vexed at this, as the Widow Thorneycroft, her protegee, and the Rev. Mr. Wishart, accompanied by a solicitor, were shortly expected; and it was desirable that a meeting of the antagonistic parties should be avoided.  I descended to the lower regions to remonstrate with and hurry Martin, and found, as I feared, that his former evil habits had returned upon him.  It was not yet twelve o’clock, and he was already partially intoxicated, and pale, trembling, and nervous from the effects, it was clear to me, of the previous night’s debauch.

“Your mistress is grossly deceived in you!” I angrily exclaimed; “and if my advice were taken, you would be turned out of the house at once without a character.  There, don’t attempt to bamboozle me with that nonsense; I’ve seen fellows crying drunk before now.”

He stammered out some broken excuses, to which I very impatiently listened; and so thoroughly muddled did his brain appear, that he either could not or would not comprehend the possibility of Mrs. Allerton and her children being turned out of house and home, as he expressed it, and over and over again asked me if nothing could yet be done to prevent it.  I was completely disgusted with the fellow, and sharply bidding him hasten his preparations for departure, rejoined the ladies, who were by this time assembled in the back drawing-room, ready shawled and bonneted for their journey.  It was a sad sight.  Rosamond Stewart’s splendid face was shadowed by deep and bitter grief, borne, it is true, with pride and fortitude; but it was easy to see its throbbing pulsations through all the forced calmness of the surface.  Her aunt, of a weaker nature, sobbed loudly in the fullness of her grief; and the children, shrinking instinctively in the chilling atmosphere of a great calamity, clung, trembling and half-terrified, the eldest especially, to their mother.  I did not insult them with phrases of condolence, but turned the conversation, if such it could be called, upon their future home and prospects in Switzerland.  Some time had thus elapsed when my combative propensities were suddenly aroused by the loud dash of a carriage to the door, and the peremptory rat-tat-tat which followed.  I felt my cheek flame as I said, “They demand admittance as if in possession of an assured, decided right.  It is not yet too late to refuse possession, and take the chances of the law’s uncertainty.”

Mrs. Allerton shook her head with decisive meaning.  “I could not bear it,” she said in a tone of sorrowful gentleness.  “But I trust we shall not be intruded upon.”