She would not delay it.
She would be sure to come at once.

And what of the welcome she would meet?
Leaving the station at London at six in the evening, she might arrive at the Priory, all impediments counted, between ten and eleven at night.

Thence, coldly greeted, or not greeted, to the chamber of death.
A pitiable and cruel reception for a woman upon such a mission! His mingled calculations and meditations reached that exclamatory terminus in feeling, and settled on the picture of Diana, about as clear as light to blinking eyes, but enough for him to realize her being there and alone, woefully alone.

The supposition of an absolute loneliness was most possible.

He had intended to drive back the next day, when the domestic storm would be over, and take the chances of her coming.