You talked grandly about claiming to be protected from insult in this house.

It is we who claim to be protected from a hypocrite and a murderer! Begone; and consider yourself fortunate that instead of walking out a free man, you are not taken out to the punishment you deserve!" When Jeffreys, stunned and stupefied, looked up, the room was empty.
Mechanically he finished a sentence he had been writing, then letting the pen drop from his hand, sat where he was, numbed body and soul.
Mrs Rimbolt's words dinned in his ears, and with them came those old haunting sounds, the yells on the Bolsover meadows, the midnight shriek of the terrified boy, the cold sneer of his guardian, the brutal laugh of Jonah Trimble.

All came back in one confused hideous chorus, yelling to him that his bad name was alive still, dogging him down, down, mocking his foolish dreams of deliverance and hope, hounding him out into the night to hide his head indeed, but never to hide himself from himself.
How long he sat there he knew not.

When he rose he was at least calm and resolved.
He went up to his own room and looked through his little stock of possessions.

The old suit in which he had come to Wildtree was there; and an impulse seized him to put it on in exchange for the trim garments he was wearing.