To Mona fell the task of making preparation for Nan's departure, for Nan herself did not raise a finger to that end.

Three days only remained to her of the old free life--three days in which to bid farewell to everybody and everything she knew and loved.
Her husband did not attempt to obtrude his presence upon her during those three days.

The man's patience was immense, cloaking him as with a garment of passive strength.

He was merely a guest in Colonel Everard's house, and a silent guest at that.
No one knew what had passed between him and his young wife on the night of the Hunt Ball, but it was generally understood that he had asserted his authority over her after a fashion that admitted of no resistance.
Only Mona could have told of the white-faced, terrified girl who had lain trembling in her arms all through the dark hours that had followed their interview, but Mona knew when to hold her peace, though it was no love for her brother-in-law that sealed her lips.
So, with a set face, she packed her sister's belongings, never faltering, scarcely pausing for thought, till on the very last day she finished her task, and then sat musing alone in the darkness of the winter evening.
Nan had been out all the afternoon, no one knew exactly where, though it was supposed that she was paying farewell visits.

The Colonel, whose courteous instincts would not suffer him to neglect a guest, had been out shooting with his son-in-law all day long.