With a set and rigid face he ascended the steps which led to his bedroom, and, rummaging in his desk, produced a telegram form.  This he filled up and took with him downstairs.  There he put on his hat and started off to the Bedsworth Post-office at full speed.

At the avenue gate he met his sentinel, who was sitting on his camp stool as grim as ever.

“She is very bad, Stevens,” Girdlestone said, stopping and jerking his head in the direction of the house.  “She is going downhill.  I am afraid that she can’t last long.  If any one asks you about her, you can say that she was despaired of.  I am just sending off a telegram to a doctor in London, so that she may have the best advice.”

Stevens touched his greasy-peaked cap as a token of respect.  “She was down here behavin’ outrageous the other day,” said he. “‘Let me pass,’ says she, ‘and you shall have ten golden guineas.’  Them’s her very words.  ‘Not for ten hundred golden guineas,’ I answers, ’would William Stevens, hesquire, do what he didn’t ought to.’”

“Very proper, very proper indeed,” said Girdlestone approvingly.  “Every man in his own station has his own duties to fulfil, and he will be judged as he has fulfilled them, well or ill.  I shall see that you are no loser by your staunchness.”

“Thank ye, guv’nor.”

“She is wild and delirious, and can get about in spite of her low state of health.  It is possible that she may make some effort to get away, so be vigilant.  Good day to you.”

“Good day, sir.”  William Stevens stood at the gate, looking pensively after his employer; then he reseated himself upon his camp-stool, and, lighting his pipe, resumed his meditations.  “I can’t make nought of it,” he muttered, scratching his head, “It do seem uncommon queer, to be sure.  The boss he says, ‘She’s very low,’ says he, and then next minute he says, ‘She may be comin’ down and tryin’ to escape.  ’I’ve seen diers o’ all shapes and sizes, but I’ve never seed one as went a galivantin’ about like this—­at least, not among them as died a nat’ral death.  It do seem uncommon strange.  Then, again, he’s off telegrayphin’ for a doctor to Lunnon, when there’s Doctor Corbett, o’ Claxton, or Doctor Hutton, o’ Bedsworth, would come quick enough if he wanted them.  I can’t make no sense of it.  Why, bust my buttons!” he continued, taking his pipe out of his mouth in a paroxysm of astonishment, “if here hain’t the dier herself!”

It was, indeed, Kate, who, learning that her guardian was gone, had come out with some vague idea of making a last struggle for her life and freedom.  With the courage of despair, she came straight down the avenue to the sole spot where escape seemed possible.

“Good mornin’, missy,” cried Stevens, as she approached.  “You don’t look extra bright this mornin’, but you ain’t as bad as your good guardian made me think.  You don’t seem to feel no difficulty in gettin’ about.”