Meantime, Walden, left alone, gave himself up to a tumult of misery and self-torture.  His sensitive nature shrank from the breath of vulgar scandal like the fine frond of delicate foliage from the touch of a coarse finger.  He had never before been associated with the faintest rumour of it,—­his life had been too simple, too austere, and too far removed from all the trumpery shows and petty intrigues of society.  He felt himself now in a manner debased by having had to listen with enforced patience to Bainton’s rambling account of the gossip going on in the neighbourhood, and despite that worthy servitor’s disquisition on the subject, he could not imagine how it had arisen, unless his quarrel with Putwood Leveson were the cause.  It was all so sudden and unlooked for!  Maryllia had gone away,—­and that fact of itself was sufficient to make darkness out of sunshine.  He could not quite realise it.  And not only had she gone away, but some slanderous story had been concocted concerning her in connection with himself, which was being bandied about on all the tongues of the village and county.  How it had arisen he could not understand.  He was, of course, unaware of the part Lord Roxmouth had played in the matter, and in his ignorance of the true source of the mischief, tormented his mind with endless fancies and perplexities, all of which helped to increase his annoyance and agitation.  Pacing restlessly up and down his study, his eyes presently fell on the little heap of letters which had accumulated on his table during his brief absence, all as yet unopened.  Turning them over indifferently, he came suddenly on one small sealed note, inscribed as having been left ‘by hand,’ addressed to him in the bold frank writing to which he had once, not so very long ago, felt such an inexplicable aversion when Mrs. Spruce was the recipient of a first letter from the same source.  Now he snatched the little missive up with a strangely impulsive ardour, and being quite alone, indulged himself in the pleasure of kissing the firm free pen-strokes with all the passion of a boy.  Then opening it, he read: 

“Dear Mr. Walden,—­You will be surprised to find that I have gone away from the dear home I love so well, and I daresay you will think me very capricious.  But please do not judge me hastily, or believe everything you may hear of me from others.  I am very sorry to go away just now, but circumstances leave me no other choice.  I should like to have bidden you good-bye, as I could perhaps have explained things to you better, but old Josey Letherbarrow tells me you have gone to see the Bishop on business, so I leave this note myself just to say that I hope you will think as kindly of me as you can now I am gone.  Please go into the Manor gardens as often as you like, and let the sick and old people in the village have plenty of the flowers and fruit.  By doing this you will please me very much.  My agent, Mr. Stanways, will be quite at