But this time Hetty meant precisely what she said.  Having dressed Rebecca, she suddenly faced upon Mrs. Grantham, who stood watching her as she turned back the bed-clothes to air, and folded the child’s nightdress.

“With your leave, madam, I wish to go home to-day.”

“Bless my soul!” ejaculated Mrs. Grantham.  “You must be mad.”

“I know how singular you must think it:  and indeed I am very sorry to put you out.  Yet I have a particular reason for asking.”

“Quite impossible, Miss Wesley.”

But, as Mr. Grantham had afterwards to tell her, a householder has no means in free England of coercing a grown woman determined to quit the shelter of his roof and within an hour.  The poor lady was nonplussed.  She had not dreamed that life’s tranquil journey lay exposed to a surprise at once so simple and so disconcerting, and in her vexation she came near to hysterics.

“What to make of your sister, I know not,” she cried, twenty minutes later, seating herself to have her hair dressed by Patty.

“Her temper was always a little uncertain,” said Patty sagely.  “I think father spoilt her by teaching her Greek and poetry and such things.”

“Greek!  You don’t tell me that Greek makes a person want to walk out of a comfortable house at a moment’s notice and leave my poor darlings on the stream!”

“Oh, no,” agreed Patty.  “You will not allow it, of course?”

“Perhaps you’ll tell me how to prevent it?  In all my life I don’t remember being so much annoyed.”

So Hetty had her way, packed a small bundle, and was ready at the gate for the passing of the carrier’s van which would set her down within a mile of home.  She had acted on an impulse, unreasoning, but not to be resisted.  She felt the crisis of her life approaching and had urgent need, before it came on her, to make confession and cleanse her soul.  She knew she was hurrying towards a tempest; but, whatever it might wreck, she panted for the clear sky beyond.  In her fever the van seemed to crawl and the miles to drag themselves out interminably.

She was within a mile of her journey’s end when a horseman met and passed the van at a jog-trot.  Hetty glanced after him, wrenched open the door and sprang out upon the road with a cry—­

“Father!”

Mr. Wesley heard her and turned his head; then reined up the filly and came slowly back.  The van was at a standstill, the driver craning his head and staring aft in wholly ludicrous bewilderment.

“Dropped anything?” he asked, as Hetty ran to him.  She thrust the fare into his hand without answering and faced around again to meet her father.

He came slowly, with set jaws.  He offered no greeting.

“I was expecting this,” he said.  “Indeed, I was riding to Kelstein to fetch you home.”

“But—­but why?” she stammered.

“Why?” A short savage laugh broke from him, almost like a dog’s bark; but he held his temper down.  “Because I do not choose to have a decent household infected by a daughter of mine.  Because, if sisters of yours must needs be exposed to the infection, it shall be where I am present to watch them and control you.  I have received a letter—­”