There was something about his attitude of awhile ago which puzzled her.
And with puzzlement came an inexplicable fear: she had known Marmaduke
in all his moods, but never in such an one as he had displayed before
her just now. There had been a note almost of triumph in the laughter
with which he had greeted her last reproach. The cry of the sparrowhawk
when it seizes its prey.

Triumph in Sir Marmaduke filled her with dread. No one knew better than
she did the hopeless condition of his financial status. Debt--prison
perhaps--was waiting for him at every turn. Yet he seemed triumphant!
She knew him to have reached those confines of irritability and
rebellion against poverty which would cause him to shrink from nothing
for the sake of gaining money. Yet he seemed triumphant!

Instinctively she shuddered as she thought of Sue. She had no cause to
like the girl, yet would she not wish to see her come to harm.

She did not dare avow even to herself the conviction which she had, that
if Sir Marmaduke could gain anything by the young girl's death, he would
not hesitate to ... Nay! she would not even frame that thought.
Marmaduke had been kind to her; she could but hope that temptation such
as that, would never come his way.

Hymn-of-Praise Busy broke in on her meditations. His nasal tones--which
had a singular knack of irritating her as a rule--struck quite
pleasingly on her ear, as a welcome interruption to the conflict of her
thoughts.

"Master Skyffington, ma'am," he said in his usual drawly voice, "he is