"Since daybreak this morning."
"Where was she before then?"
"At Stony-Stringford Farm."
"And before then?"
"In the pavilion over the boat-house at Marchmont."
"My God! And—"
The young man did not finish his sentence. He put his head out of the window, looking towards Kemberling, and straining his eyes to catch the earliest sight of the straggling village street.
"Faster!" he cried every now and then to the coachman; "faster!"
In little more than half an hour from the time at which it had left the churchyard-gate, the carriage stopped before the little carpenter's shop. Mr. Jobson's doorway was adorned by a painted representation of two very doleful-looking mutes standing at a door; for Hester's husband combined the more aristocratic avocation of undertaker with the homely trade of carpenter and joiner.
Olivia Marchmont got out of the carriage before either of the two men could alight to assist her. Power was the supreme attribute of this woman's mind. Her purpose never faltered; from the moment she had left Marchmont Towers until now, she had known neither rest of body nor wavering of intention.