When the old woman was alone she at once went to work in her own mind resolving what should be her course of proceeding¹. To yield in the matter, and to confirm the happiness of the young people, never occurred to her. Again and again she repeated to herself that she would do her duty; and again and again she repeated to herself that in allowing Philip and Bessy to come together she had neglected her duty. That her duty required her to separate them, in spite of their love, in spite of their engagement, though all the happiness of their lives might depend upon it, she did not in the least doubt. Duty is duty. And it was her duty to aggrandise the house of Launay, so that the old autocracy² of the land might, so far as in her lay, be preserved. That it would be a good and pious³ thing to do,—to keep them apart, to force Philip{137} to marry the girl in Cornwall, to drive Bessy into Mr. Morrison’s arms, was to her so certain that it required no further thought. She had never indulged herself. Her life had been so led as to maintain the power of her own order, and relieve the wants of those below her. She had done nothing for her own pleasure. How should it occur to her that it would be well for her to change the whole course of her life in order that she might administer to the joys of a young man and a young woman?

It did not occur to her to do so. Lying thus all alone, white, sick, and feeble, but very strong of heart, she made her resolutions. As Bessy could not well be sent out of the house till a home should be provided for her elsewhere, Philip should be made to go. As that was to be the first step, she again sent for Philip that day. “No, mother; not while you are so ill.” This he said in answer to her first command that he should leave Launay at once. It had not occurred to him that the house in which he had been born and bred, the house of his ancestors, the house which he had always supposed was at some future day to be his own, was not free to him. But, feeble as she was, she soon made him understand her purpose. He must go,—because she ordered him, because the house was hers and not his, because he was no longer welcome there as a guest unless he would promise to abandon Bessy. “This is tyranny, mother,” he said.

“I do not mean to argue the question,” said Mrs. Miles, leaning back among the pillows, gaunt, with{138} hollow cheeks, yellow with her long sickness, seeming to be all eyes as she looked at him. “I tell you that you must go.”

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