Meg thought she heard him say, "Like parent, like child. The same evil disposition." Then lifting his voice, he called to the coachman, "Drive to Greyling; when you get there ask the way to Moorhouse, Miss Reeves' school for young ladies."
"No, no! I will not go back!—I will not!" cried Meg, jumping to her feet as the carriage began to turn round.
"You shall go back," said the old gentleman, pushing her down in the seat opposite and holding her there.
The carriage moved swiftly, and so noiselessly that Meg heard every word her companion said.
"You shall go back this time; but if ever you seek to run away from that school again, no one will take you back again. You shall be left to achieve your own willful ruin. I will wash my hands of you forever.
"Listen," he continued, with upraised finger, as Meg, awed by his manner, did not reply. "Do you know what will happen if you try to escape from that school again? You will become a pauper. You will have to beg by the roadside. You will sink lower and lower, until you get into the workhouse."
"No!" cried Meg, with a flash of confidence. "Mrs. Browne will take me in."
"Mrs. Browne has left that house. It is occupied by strangers who do not know you, who would shut its doors upon you."
"Gone!" repeated Meg, aghast. "Where is she gone to?"
"You will never know," said the stranger. Then after a moment he resumed: "If I had not been driving down that road this evening you would have begun your downward course already. Remember what I say to you. If you try to escape again you will become a little casual. A ruffianly porter will let you in and order you about, you will be put into a dirty bath, obliged to wear clothes other beggars have worn before you."