"Gone away? My lady gone away? Where is she gone?"
"Where do you think she is most likely to have gone?"
"Not?—oh!—not to her husband? Not to him!—oh! this is more terrible—far more terrible—than you can imagine."
"You will tell me why it is now so much more terrible. Meantime, I find that the cabman was told to drive to Victoria. That is all I know. I have no doubt, however, but that she has gone back to her husband. She has been in a disturbed, despondent condition ever since she arrived in London. Mr. Mountjoy has been as kind as usual: but he has not been able to chase away her sadness. Whether she was fretting after her husband, or whether—but this I hardly think—she was comparing the man she had lost with the man she had taken—but I do not know. All I do know is that she has been uneasy ever since she came from France, and what I believe is that she has been reproaching herself with leaving her husband without good cause."
"Good cause!" echoed Fanny. "Oh! good gracious! If she only knew, there's cause enough to leave a hundred husbands."
"Nothing seemed to rouse her," Mrs. Vimpany continued, without regarding the interruption. "I went with her to the farm to see her former maid, Rhoda. The girl's health is re-established; she is engaged to marry the farmer's brother. Lady Harry was kind, and said the most pleasant things; she even pulled off one of her prettiest rings and gave it to the girl. But I could see that it was an effort for her to appear interested—her thoughts were with her husband all the time. I was sure it would end in this way, and I am not in the least surprised. But what will Mr. Mountjoy say when he opens the letter?"
"Back to her husband!" Fanny repeated. "Oh! what shall we do?"
"Tell me what you mean. What has happened?"
"I must tell you. I thought I would tell Mr. Mountjoy first: but I must tell you, although—" She stopped.
"Although it concerns my husband. Never mind that consideration—go on." Fanny told the story from the beginning.