here was a fretful desperation in the tone, as of one long accustomed to
protest in vain.

Mr. Melrose laughed once more--carelessly, as though it were not worth
while to dispute the matter; and the carriage went on--battling, as it
seemed, with the storm.

"I never saw such an _awful_ place in my life!" said the wife's voice
again--with the same note of explosion--after an interval. "It's
horrible--just _horrible_! All the way from Pengarth we've hardly seen a
house, or a light!--and we've been driving nearly an hour. You don't
expect me to _live_ here, Edmund!" The tone was hysterical.

"Don't be a fool, Netta! Doesn't it ever rain in your infernal country,
eh? This is my property, my dear, worse luck! I regret it--but here we
are. Threlfall has got to be my home--so I suppose it'll be yours too."

"You could let or sell it, Edmund!--you know you could--if you cared a
farthing about making me happy."

"I have every reason to think it will suit me perfectly--and you too."

The tone of the man which, hitherto, though mocking had been in the main
indulgent, had suddenly, harshly, changed. The wife dropped into the
corner of the carriage among her furs and wraps, and said no more.

In another quarter of an hour the carriage turned a corner of the road,
and came upon a tall building, of which the high irregular outline was
just visible through the growing darkness. In front of it stood a group
of men with lanterns, and the carriage stopped beside them.

A noise of tongues arose, and Mr. Melrose let down the window.

"Is this where the road is flooded?" he asked of a stout man in a whitish
coat and cap who had come forward to speak to the coachman.

"Aye, sir--but you'll get through. In an hour's time, mebbe ye couldn't
do it. The water fro' the mill-race is over t' road, but it's nobbut a
foot deep as yet. Yo'll do it varra well--but yo'd best not lose time!"

"Edmund!"--screamed the voice from inside--"Edmund!--let me out--let me
out at once--I shall stay here with baby for the night."

Mr. Melrose took no notice whatever.

"Can you send those men of yours alongside us--in case there is any
danger of the coachman losing the road?" he said, addressing the man.

"Aye, they'll keep along t' bank with the lanterns. Noa fear, missis, noa
fear!"

Another scream from inside. Mr. Melrose shut the window abruptly, and the
coachman whipped up his horses.

"Let me get out, Edmund!--I will _not_ go on!"

Melrose br