SHE took his hand, and began with all the art of persuasion thatshe possessed.

"One question, Geoffrey, before I say what I want to say. LadyLundie has invited you to stay at Windygates. Do you accept herinvitation? or do you go back to your brother's in the evening?"

"I can't go back in the evening--they've put a visitor into myroom. I'm obliged to stay here. My brother has done it onpurpose. Julius helps me when I'm hard up--and bullies meafterward. He has sent me here, on duty for the family. Somebodymust be civil to Lady Lundie--and I'm the sacrifice."

She took him up at his last word. "Don't make the sacrifice," shesaid. "Apologize to Lady Lundie, and say you are obliged to goback."

"Why?"

"Because we must both leave this place to-day."

There was a double objection to that. If he left Lady Lundie's,he would fail to establish a future pecuniary claim on hisbrother's indulgence. And if he left with Anne, the eyes of theworld would see them, and the whispers of the world might come tohis father's ears.

"If we go away together," he said, "good-by to my prospects, andyours too."

"I don't mean that we shall leave together," she explained. "Wewill leave separately--and I will go first."

"There will be a hue and cry after you, when you are missed."

"There will be a dance when the croquet is over. I don'tdance--and I shall not be missed. There will be time, andopportunity to get to my own room. I shall leave a letter therefor Lady Lundie, and a letter"--her voice trembled for amoment--"and a letter for Blanche. Don't interrupt me! I havethought of this, as I have thought of every thing else. Theconfession I shall make will be the truth in a few hours, if it'snot the truth now. My letters will say I am privately married,and called away unexpectedly to join my husband. There will be ascandal in the house, I know. But there will be no excuse forsending after me, when I am under my husband's protection. So faras you are personally concerned there are no discoveries tofear--and nothing which it is not perfectly safe and perfectlyeasy to do. Wait here an hour after I have gone to saveappearances; and then follow me."

"Follow you?" interposed Geoffrey. "Where?" She drew her chairnearer to him, and whispered the next words in his ear.

"To a lonely little mountain inn--four miles from this."

"An inn!"

"Why not?"

"An inn is a public place."

A movement of natural impatience escaped her--but she controlledherself, and went on as quietly as before:

"The place I mean is the loneliest place in the neighborhood. Youhave no prying eyes to dread there. I have picked it outexpressly for that reason. It's away from the railway; it's awayfrom the high-road: it's kept by a decent, respectableScotchwoman--"

"Decent, respectable Scotchwomen who keep inns," interposedGeoffrey, "don't cotton to young ladies who are traveling alone.The landlady won't receive you."

It was a well-aimed objection--but it missed the mark. A womanbent on her marriage is a woman who can meet the objections ofthe whole world, single-handed, and refute them all.

"I have provided for every thing," she said, "and I have providedfor that. I shall tell the landlady I am on my wedding-trip. Ishall say my husband is sight-seeing, on foot, among themountains in the neighborhood--"

"She is sure to believe that!" said Geoffrey.

"She is sure to _dis_believe it, if you like. Let her! You haveonly to appear, and to ask for your wife--and there is my storyproved to be true! She may be the most suspicious woman living,as long as I am alone with her. The moment you join me, you sether suspicions at rest. Leave me to do my part. My part is thehard one. Will you do yours?"

It was impossible to say No: she had fairly cut the ground fromunder his feet. He shifted his ground. Any thing rather than sayYes!

"I suppose _you_ know how we are to be married?" he asked. "All Ican say is--_I_ don't."

"You do!" she retorted. "You know that we are in Scotland. Youknow that there are neither forms, ceremonies, nor delays inmarriage, here. The plan I have proposed to you secures my beingreceived at the inn, and makes it easy and natural for you tojoin me there afterward. The rest is in our own hands. A man anda woman who wish to be married (in Scotland) have only to securethe necessary witnesses and the thing is done. If the landladychooses to resent the deception practiced on her, after that, thelandlady may do as she pleases. We shall have gained our objectin spite of her--and, what is more, we shall have gained itwithout risk to _you._"

"Don't lay it all on my shoulders," Geoffrey rejoined. "You womengo headlong at every thing. Say we are married. We must separateafterward--or how are we to keep it a secret?"

"Certainly. You will go back, of course, to your brother's house,as if nothing had happened."

"And what is to become of _you?_"

"I shall go to London."

"What are you to do in London?"

"Haven't I already told you that I have thought of every thing?When I get to London I shall apply to some of my mother's oldfriends--friends of hers in the time when she was a musician.Every body tells me I have a voice--if I had only cultivated it.I _will_ cultivate it! I can live, and live respectably, as aconcert singer. I have saved money enough to support me, while Iam learning--and my mother's friends will help me, for her sake."

So, in the new life that she was marking out, was she nowunconsciously reflecting in herself the life of her mother beforeher. Here was the mother's career as a public singer, chosen (inspite of all efforts to prevent it) by the child! Here (thoughwith other motives, and under other circumstances) was themother's irregular marriage in Ireland, on the point of beingfollowed by the daughter's irregular marriage in Scotland! Andhere, stranger still, was the man who was answerable for it--theson of the man who had found the flaw in the Irish marriage, andhad shown the way by which her mother was thrown on the world!"My Anne is my second self. She is not called by her father'sname; she is called by mine. She is Anne Silvester as I was. Willshe end like Me?"--The answer to those words--the last words thathad trembled on the dying mother's lips--was coming fast. Throughthe chances and changes of many years, the future was pressingnear--and Anne Silvester stood on the brink of it.

"Well?" she resumed. "Are you at the end of your objections? Canyou give me a plain answer at last?"

No! He had another objection ready as the words passed her lips.

"Suppose the witnesses at the inn happen to know me?" he said."Suppose it comes to my father's ears in that way?"

"Suppose you drive me to my death?" she retorted, starting to herfeet. "Your father shall know the truth, in that case--I swearit!"

He rose, on his side, and drew back from her. She followed himup. There was a clapping of hands, at the same moment, on thelawn. Somebody had evidently made a brilliant stroke whichpromised to decide the game. There was no security now thatBlanche might not return again. There was every prospect, thegame being over, that Lady Lundie would be free. Anne brought theinterview to its crisis, without wasting a moment more.

"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn," she said. "You have bargained for aprivate marriage, and I have consented. Are you, or are you not,ready to marry me on your own terms?"

"Give me a minute to think!"

"Not an instant. Once for all, is it Yes, or No?"

He couldn't say "Yes," even then. But he said what was equivalentto it. He asked, savagely, "Where is the inn?"

She put her arm in his, and whispered, rapidly, "Pass the road onthe right that leads to the railway. Follow the path over themoor, and the sheep-track up the hill. The first house you cometo after that is the inn. You understand!"

He nodded his head, with a sullen frown, and took his pipe out ofhis pocket again.

"Let it alone this time," he said, meeting her eye. "My mind'supset. When a man's mind's upset, a man can't smoke. What's thename of the place?"

"Craig Fernie."

"Who am I to ask for at the door?"

"For your wife."

"Suppose they want you to give your name when you get there?"

"If I must give a name, I shall call myself Mrs., instead ofMiss, Silvester. But I shall do my best to avoid giving any name.And you will do your best to avoid making a mistake, by onlyasking for me as your wife. Is there any thing else you want toknow?"

"Yes."

"Be quick about it! What is it?"

"How am I to know you have got away from here?"

"If you don't hear from me in half an hour from the time when Ihave left you, you may be sure I have got away. Hush!"

Two voices, in conversation, were audible at the bottom of thesteps--Lady Lundie's voice and Sir Patrick's. Anne pointed to thedoor in the back wall of the summer-house. She had just pulled itto again, after Geoffrey had passed through it, when Lady Lundieand Sir Patrick appeared at the top of the steps.