“I thank you, sir, with all my heart. Will you give me the address, madam, where she is, for all this has well-nigh put it out of my head,” he added, addressing Mrs. Temple, “and I’ll go up to London to-night, or to-morrow at latest.”
Mrs. Temple went to the writing-table without a word, and wrote down Miss Webster’s address in Pembridge Terrace, which she remembered only too well, and handed it to Mr. Churchill.
“Thank you kindly, madam,” he said, “and now, as the doctor’s here, and the squire, I think I’ll go, as I leave Mr. Henderson in such good hands, and I have my missus to consult a bit, and some business to see about before I can get off to London. Good-morning, madam; good-morning, squire.”
So Mr. Churchill went away, but he was scarcely gone when Mrs. Layton rushed hastily into the room. She had heard a report somehow that there had been a quarrel between young Henderson and John Temple, and that the doctor had been sent for, so she had hurried up to the Hall to see and hear all about it.
“What is this, Rachel!” she cried, looking at the prostrate figure on the couch. “Whatever has happened?”
Mrs. Temple shrugged her shoulders.
“It means a fight,” she said, scornfully, “and there is the fallen one!” And she pointed to Henderson.
“But what on earth did they quarrel about?” asked Mrs. Layton, eagerly.
“The village beauty,” answered Mrs. Temple, still more scornfully; “it seems my nephew, John Temple, had run away with Miss Churchill, and his uncle has given his consent to his marriage with her, so we may expect her here.”