She took him at his word, and I followed her.  There was no one in Miss Halcombe’s room but Margaret Porcher, who was busy setting it to rights.  There was no one in the spare rooms or the dressing-rooms when we looked into them afterwards.  Sir Percival still waited for us in the passage.  As we were leaving the last room that we had examined Lady Glyde whispered, “Don’t go, Mrs. Michelson! don’t leave me, for God’s sake!” Before I could say anything in return she was out again in the passage, speaking to her husband.

“What does it mean, Sir Percival?  I insist—­I beg and pray you will tell me what it means.”

“It means,” he answered, “that Miss Halcombe was strong enough yesterday morning to sit up and be dressed, and that she insisted on taking advantage of Fosco’s going to London to go there too.”

“To London!”

“Yes—­on her way to Limmeridge.”

Lady Glyde turned and appealed to me.

“You saw Miss Halcombe last,” she said.  “Tell me plainly, Mrs. Michelson, did you think she looked fit to travel?”

“Not in my opinion, your ladyship.”

Sir Percival, on his side, instantly turned and appealed to me also.

“Before you went away,” he said, “did you, or did you not, tell the nurse that Miss Halcombe looked much stronger and better?”

“I certainly made the remark, Sir Percival.”

He addressed her ladyship again the moment I offered that reply.

“Set one of Mrs. Michelson’s opinions fairly against the other,” he said, “and try to be reasonable about a perfectly plain matter.  If she had not been well enough to be moved do you think we should any of us have risked letting her go?  She has got three competent people to look after her—­Fosco and your aunt, and Mrs. Rubelle, who went away with them expressly for that purpose.  They took a whole carriage yesterday, and made a bed for her on the seat in case she felt tired.  To-day, Fosco and Mrs. Rubelle go on with her themselves to Cumberland.”

“Why does Marian go to Limmeridge and leave me here by myself?” said her ladyship, interrupting Sir Percival.

“Because your uncle won’t receive you till he has seen your sister first,” he replied.  “Have you forgotten the letter he wrote to her at the beginning of her illness?  It was shown to you, you read it yourself, and you ought to remember it.”

“I do remember it.”

“If you do, why should you be surprised at her leaving you?  You want to be back at Limmeridge, and she has gone there to get your uncle’s leave for you on his own terms.”

Poor Lady Glyde’s eyes filled with tears.

“Marian never left me before,” she said, “without bidding me good-bye.”

“She would have bid you good-bye this time,” returned Sir Percival, “if she had not been afraid of herself and of you.  She knew you would try to stop her, she knew you would distress her by crying.  Do you want to make any more objections?  If you do, you must come downstairs and ask questions in the dining-room.  These worries upset me.  I want a glass of wine.”