“She wouldn’t be all alone when you are with her,” said Hugh, gruffly, and then again went out, leaving his wife to become used to her misfortune by degrees.

Chapter XLII

Parting

It was not surprising that Lady Clavering should dislike her solitude at Clavering Park house, nor surprising that Sir Hugh should find the place disagreeable.  The house was a large, square stone building, with none of the prettinesses of modern country-houses about it.  The gardens were away from the house, and the cold, desolate, fiat park came up close around the windows:  The rooms were very large and lofty—­very excellent for the purpose of a large household, but with nothing of that snug, pretty comfort which solitude requires for its solace.  The furniture was old and heavy, and the hangings were dark in color.  Lady Clavering when alone there—­and she generally was alone—­never entered the rooms on the ground-floor.  Nor did she ever pass through the wilderness of a hall by which the front door was to be reached.  Throughout more than half her days she never came down stairs at all; but when she did so, preparatory to being dragged about the parish lanes in the old family carriage, she was let out at a small side-door; and so it came to pass that during the absences of the lord of the mansion, the shutters were not even moved from any of the lower windows.  Under such circumstances there can be no wonder that Lady Clavering regarded the place as a prison.  “I wish you could come upon it unawares, and see how gloomy it is,” she said to him.  “I don’t think you’d stand it alone for two days, let alone all your life.”

“I’ll shut it up altogether if you like,” said he.

“And where am I to go?” she asked.

“You can go to Moor Hall if you please.”  Now Moor Hall was a small house, standing on a small property belonging to Sir Hugh, in that part of Devonshire which lies north of Dartmoor, somewhere near the Holsworthy region, and which is perhaps as ugly, as desolate, and as remote as any part of England.  Lady Clavering had heard much of Moor Hall, and dreaded it as the heroine, made to live in the big grim castle low down among the Apennines, dreads the smaller and grimmer castle which is known to exist somewhere higher up in the mountains.

“Why couldn’t I go to Brighton?” said Lady Clavering, boldly.

“Because I don’t choose it,” said Sir Hugh.  After that she did go to the rectory, and told Mrs. Clavering all her troubles.  She had written to her sister, having, however, delayed the doing of this for two or three days, and she had not at this time received an answer from Lady Ongar.  Nor did she hear from her sister till after Sir Hugh had left her.  It was on the day before his departure that she went to the rectory, finding herself driven to this act of rebellion by his threat of Moor Hall.  “I will never go there unless I am dragged there by force,” she said to Mrs. Clavering.