Carroll shivered again.
“You don't know, dear, and I'm not going to tell you. Why,” she cried, “she told me that you and I were in a conspiracy to drive her to her grave so we could get her money!”
“She must be a little crazy,” said Orde, still pacifically.
“Come, help me,” said Carroll. “I must get my things.”
“Can't you just pack a bag and leave the rest until tomorrow? It's about hungry time.”
“She says I must take every stitch belonging to me tonight.”
They packed trunks until late that night, quite alone. Gerald had departed promptly after breaking the news, probably without realising to what a pass affairs would come. A frightened servant, evidently in disobedience of orders and in fear of destruction, brought them a tray of food, which she put down on a small table and hastily fled. In a room down the hall they could hear the murmur of voices where Mrs. Bishop received spiritual consolation from her adviser. When the trunks were packed, Orde sent for a baggage waggon. Carroll went silently from place to place, saying farewell to such of her treasures as she had made up her mind to leave. Orde scribbled a note to Gerald, requesting him to pack up the miscellanies and send them to Michigan by freight. The baggage man and Orde carried the trunks downstairs. No one appeared. Carroll and Orde walked together to the hotel. Next morning an interview with Gerald confirmed them in their resolution of immediate departure.
“She is set in her opposition now, and at present she believes firmly that her influence will separate you. Such a state of mind cannot be changed in an hour.”
“And you?” asked Carroll.
“Oh, I,” he shrugged, “will go on as usual. I have my interests.”