ove to that self-love, deepest of all, which
says:

"Do this, or forfeit the essence of your soul"

And now that she stole to her bed again, she looked at her sleeping
husband whom she had resolved to leave, with no anger, no reproach, but
rather with a long, incurious look which toad nothing even to herself.

So, when the morning came of age and it was time to rise, by no action,
look, or sign, did she betray the presence of the unusual in her soul.
If this which was before her must be done, it would be carried out as
though it were of no import, as though it were a daily action; nor did
she force herself to quietude, or pride herself thereon, but acted thus
from instinct, the instinct for avoiding fuss and unnecessary suffering
that was bred in her.

Mr. Pendyce went out at half-past ten accompanied by his bailiff and the
spaniel John. He had not the least notion that his wife still meant the
words she had spoken overnight. He had told her again while dressing
that he would have no more to do with George, that he would cut him out
of his will, that he would force him by sheer rigour to come to heel,
that, in short, he meant to keep his word, and it would have been
unreasonable in him to believe that a woman, still less his wife, meant
to keep hers.

Mrs. Pendyce spent the early part of the morning in the usual way. Half
an hour after the Squire went out she ordered the carriage round, had two
small trunks, which she had packed herself, brought down, and leisurely,
with her little green bag, got in. To her maid, to the butler Bester, to
the coachman Benson, she said that she was going up to stay with Mr.
George. Norah and Bee were at the Tharps', so that there was no one to
take leave of but old Roy, the Skye; and lest that leave-taking should
prove too much for her, she took him with her to the station.

For her husband she left a little note, placing it where she knew he must
see it at once, and no one else see it at all.
"DEAR HORACE,

"I have gone up to London to be with George. My address will be Green's
Hotel, Bond Street. You will remember what I said last night. Perhaps
you did not quite realise that I meant it. Take care of poor old Roy,
and don't let them give him too much meat this hot weather. Jackman
knows better than Ellis how to manage the roses this year. I should like
to be told how poor Rose Barter gets on. Please do not worry about me. I
shall write to dear Gerald when necessary, b