Some little surprise was created among the servants when orders came for the carriage to be got ready.

“Going out at this time of night.  What can it mean?” asked one of them.

“They are going to the Dower House,” answered a groom.

“Ah, then his lordship and her ladyship will not remain at the Abbey!  How strange!  But there—­rich people have nothing to do but indulge in whims and caprices!” said the under house-maid, who was immediately frowned down by her superiors in office.

Not a word was spoken by husband and wife as Lady Arleigh took her seat in the carriage.  Whatever she felt was buried in her own breast.  Her face shone marble-white underneath her vail, and her eyes were bent downward.  Never a word did she speak as the carriage drove slowly through the park, where the dews were falling and the stars were bright.

Once her husband turned to her and tried to take her hand in his, but she drew back.

“It will be better not to talk, Norman,” she said.  “I can bear it best in silence.”

So they drove on in unbroken quietude.  The dew lay glistening on the grass and trees; all nature was hushed, tranquil, sweet, and still.  It was surely the strangest drive that husband and wife had ever taken together.  More than once, noting the silent, graceful figure, Lord Arleigh was tempted to ask Madaline to fly with him to some foreign land, where they could live and die unknown—­more than once he was tempted to kiss the beautiful lips and say to her, “Madaline, you shall not leave me;” but the dishonor attaching to his name caused him to remain silent.

They had a rapid drive, and reached Winiston House—­as it was generally called—­before eleven.  Great was the surprise and consternation excited by so unexpected an arrival.  The house was in the charge of a widow whose husband had been the late, lord’s steward.  She looked somewhat dubiously at Lord Arleigh and then at his companion, when they had entered.  Madaline never opened her lips.  Lord Arleigh was strangely pale and confused.

“Mrs. Burton,” he said, “I can hardly imagine that you have heard of my marriage.  This is my wife—­Lady Arleigh.”

All the woman’s doubt and hesitation vanished then—­she became all attention; but Lord Arleigh inwardly loathed his fate when he found himself compelled to offer explanations that he would have given worlds to avoid.

“I am not going to remain here myself,” he said, in answer to the inquiries about rooms and refreshments.  “Lady Arleigh will live at Winiston House altogether; and, as you have always served the family faithfull and well, I should like you to remain in her service.”

The woman looked up at him in such utter bewilderment and surprise that he felt somewhat afraid of what she might say; he therefore hastened to add: 

“Family matters that concern no one but ourselves compel me to make this arrangement.  Lady Arleigh will be mistress now of Winiston House.  She will have a staff of servants here.  You can please yourself about remaining—­either as housekeeper or not—­just as you like.”