I can hardly wait till it is answered.

At last, after an interval, which seems to me like twenty minutes, but which that false, cold-blooded clock proclaims to be _two_, the footman enters.
"Sir Roger has not come," I say more affirmatively than interrogatively, for I have no doubt on the subject.

"Why did not the groom wait for the next train ?" "If you please, my lady, Sir Roger _has_ come." "_Has come!_" repeat I, in astonishment, opening my eyes; "then where is he ?" "He is walking up, my lady." "What! all the way from Bishopsthorpe ?" cry I, incredulously, thinking of the five miry miles that intervene between us and that station.
"_Impossible!_" "No, my lady, not all the way; only from Mrs.Huntley's." I feel the color rushing away from my cheeks, and turn quickly aside, that my change of countenance may not be perceived.
"Did he get out there ?" I ask, faintly.
"Mrs.Huntley was at the gate, my lady, and Sir Roger got down to speak to her, and bid James drive on and tell your ladyship he would be here directly." "Very well," say I, unsteadily, still averting my face, "that will do." He is gone, and I need no longer mind what color my face is, nor what shape of woeful jealousy my late so complacent features assume.
So _this_ is what comes of thinking life such a grand and pleasant thing, and this world such a lovely, satisfying paradise! Wait long enough--( I have not had to wait very long for my part)--and every sweet thing turns to gall-like bitterness between one's teeth! The experience of a few days ago might have taught me _that_, one would think, but I was dull to thick-headedness.

I required _two_ lessons--the second, oh how far harsher than even the first! In a moment I have taken my resolution.

I am racing up-stairs.