s wife to go to the man and
tell him that he must leave the house. When the unfortunate woman
expressed an opinion that Trevelyan had some legal rights upon which
he might probably insist, Mr. Outhouse asserted roundly that he could
have no legal right to remain in that parsonage against the will
of the rector. "If he wants to claim his wife and child, he must
do it by law,--not by force; and thank God, Sir Marmaduke will be
here before he can do that." "But I can't make him go," said Mrs.
Outhouse. "Tell him that you'll send for a policeman," said the
clergyman.

It had come to pass that there had been messages backwards and
forwards between the visitor and the master of the house, all carried
by that unfortunate lady. Trevelyan did not demand that his wife and
child should be given up to him;--did not even, on this occasion,
demand that his boy should be surrendered to him,--now, at once.
He did say, very repeatedly, that of course he must have his boy,
but seemed to imply that, under certain circumstances, he would
be willing to take his wife to live with him again. This appeared
to Mrs. Outhouse to be so manifestly the one thing that was
desirable,--to be the only solution of the difficulty that could be
admitted as a solution at all,--that she went to work on that hint,
and ventured to entertain a hope that a reconciliation might be
effected. She implored her husband to lend a hand to the work;--by
which she intended to imply that he should not only see Trevelyan,
but consent to meet the sinner on friendly terms. But Mr. Outhouse
was on the occasion even more than customarily obstinate. His wife
might do what she liked. He would neither meddle nor make. He would
not willingly see Mr. Trevelyan in his own house;--unless, indeed,
Mr. Trevelyan should attempt to force his way up into the nursery.
Then he said that which left no doubt on his wife's mind that, should
any violence be attempted, her husband would manfully join the melee.

But it soon became evident that no such attempt was to be made on
that day. Trevelyan was lachrymose, heartbroken, and a sight pitiable
to behold. When Mrs. Outhouse loudly asserted that his wife had not
sinned against him in the least,--"not in a tittle, Mr. Trevelyan,"
she repeated over and over again,--he began to assert himself,
declaring that she had seen the man in Devonshire, and corresponded
with him since she had been at St. Diddulph's; and when the lady had
declared that the