"At the Post-office in Rathbone Place. Don't bother me with a lot of questions to-night Lavinia; I'm not in the humour to answer them."
Paul Marchmont turned away from his sister impatiently, and opened the gate; but before she had driven off, he went back to her.
"Shake hands, Lavinia," he said; "shake hands, my dear; it may be a long time before you and I meet again."
He bent down and kissed his sister.
"Drive home as fast as you can, and send the messenger directly. He had better come to the door of the lobby, near Olivia's room. Where is Olivia, by-the-bye? Is she still with the stepdaughter she loves so dearly?"
"No; she went to Swampington early in the afternoon. A fly was ordered from the Black Bull, and she went away in it."
"So much the better," answered Mr. Marchmont. "Good night, Lavinia. Don't let my mother think ill of me. I tried to do the best I could to make her happy. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, dear Paul; God bless you!"
The blessing was invoked with as much sincerity as if Lavinia Weston had been a good woman, and her brother a good man. Perhaps neither of those two was able to realise the extent of the crime which they had assisted each other to commit.
Mrs. Weston drove away; and Paul went up to the back of the Towers, and under an archway leading into the quadrangle. All about the house was as quiet as if the Sleeping Beauty and her court had been its only occupants.