IT was still early in the afternoon when the guests at LadyLundie's lawn-party began to compare notes together in corners,and to agree in arriving at a general conviction that "some thingwas wrong."

Blanche had mysteriously disappeared from her partners in thedance. Lady Lundie had mysteriously abandoned her guests. Blanchehad not come back. Lady Lundie had returned with an artificialsmile, and a preoccupied manner. She acknowledged that she was"not very well." The same excuse had been given to account forBlanche's absence--and, again (some time previously), to explainMiss Silvester's withdrawal from the croquet! A wit among thegentlemen declared it reminded him of declining a verb. "I am notvery well; thou art not very well; she is not very well"--and soon. Sir Patrick too! Only think of the sociable Sir Patrick beingin a state of seclusion--pacing up and down by himself in theloneliest part of the garden. And the servants again! it had evenspread to the servants! _They_ were presuming to whisper incorners, like their betters. The house-maids appeared,spasmodically, where house maids had no business to be. Doorsbanged and petticoats whisked in the upper regions. Somethingwrong--depend upon it, something wrong! "We had much better goaway. My dear, order the carriage"--"Louisa, love, no moredancing; your papa is going."--"_Good_-afternoon, LadyLundie!"--"Haw! thanks very much!"--"_So_ sorry for dearBlanche!"--"Oh, it's been _too_ charming!" So Society jabberedits poor, nonsensical little jargon, and got itself politely outof the way before the storm came.

This was exactly the consummation of events for which Sir Patrickhad been waiting in the seclusion of the garden.

There was no evading the responsibility which was now thrust uponhim. Lady Lundie had announced it as a settled resolution, on herpart, to trace Anne to the place in which she had taken refuge,and discover (purely in the interests of virtue) whether sheactually was married or not. Blanche (already overwrought by theexcitem ent of the day) had broken into an hysterical passion oftears on hearing the news, and had then, on recovering, taken aview of her own of Anne's flight from the house. Anne would neverhave kept her marriage a secret from Blanche; Anne would neverhave written such a formal farewell letter as she had written toBlanche--if things were going as smoothly with her as she wastrying to make them believe at Windygates. Some dreadful troublehad fallen on Anne and Blanche was determined (as Lady Lundie wasdetermined) to find out where she had gone, and to follow, andhelp her.

It was plain to Sir Patrick (to whom both ladies had opened theirhearts, at separate interviews) that his sister-in-law, in oneway, and his niece in another, were equally likely--if not dulyrestrained--to plunge headlong into acts of indiscretion whichmight lead to very undesirable results. A man in authority wassorely needed at Windygates that afternoon--and Sir Patrick wasfain to acknowledge that he was the man.

"Much is to be said for, and much is to be said against a singlelife," thought the old gentleman, walking up and down thesequestered garden-path to which he had retired , and applyinghimself at shorter intervals than usual to the knob of his ivorycane. "This, however, is, I take it, certain. A man's marriedfriends can't prevent him from leading the life of a bachelor, ifhe pleases. But they can, and do, take devilish good care that hesha'n't enjoy it!"

Sir Patrick's meditations were interrupted by the appearance of aservant, previously instructed to keep him informed of theprogress of events at the house.

"They're all gone, Sir Patrick," said the man.

"That's a comfort, Simpson. We have no visitors to deal with now,except the visitors who are staying in the house?"

"None, Sir Patrick."

"They're all gentlemen, are they not?"

"Yes, Sir Patrick."

"That's another comfort, Simpson. Very good. I'll see Lady Lundiefirst."

Does any other form of human resolution approach the firmness ofa woman who is bent on discovering the frailties of another womanwhom she hates? You may move rocks, under a given set ofcircumstances. But here is a delicate being in petticoats, whoshrieks if a spider drops on her neck, and shudders if youapproach her after having eaten an onion. Can you move _her,_under a given set of circumstances, as set forth above? Not you!

Sir Patrick found her ladyship instituting her inquiries on thesame admirably exhaustive system which is pursued, in cases ofdisappearance, by the police. Who was the last witness who hadseen the missing person? Who was the last servant who had seenAnne Silvester? Begin with the men-servants, from the butler atthe top to the stable boy at the bottom. Go on with thewomen-servants, from the cook in all her glory to the smallfemale child who weeds the garden. Lady Lundie had cross-examinedher way downward as far as the page, when Sir Patrick joined her.

"My dear lady! pardon me for reminding you again, that this is afree country, and that you have no claim whatever to investigateMiss Silvester's proceedings after she has left your house."

Lady Lundie raised her eyes, devotionally, to the ceiling. Shelooked like a martyr to duty. If you had seen her ladyship atthat moment, you would have said yourself, "A martyr to duty."

"No, Sir Patrick! As a Christian woman, that is not _my_ way oflooking at it. This unhappy person has lived under my roof. Thisunhappy person has been the companion of Blanche. I amresponsible--I am, in a manner, morally responsible. I would givethe world to be able to dismiss it as you do. But no! I must besatisfied that she _is_ married. In the interests of propriety.For the quieting of my own conscience. Before I lay my head on mypillow to-night, Sir Patrick--before I lay my head on my pillowto-night!"

"One word, Lady Lundie--"

"No!" repeated her ladyship, with the most pathetic gentleness."You are right, I dare say, from the worldly point of view. Ican't take the worldly point of view. The worldly point of viewhurts me." She turned, with impressive gravity, to the page. "Youknow where you will go, Jonathan, if you tell lies!"

Jonathan was lazy, Jonathan was pimply, Jonathan was fat--_but_Jonathan was orthodox. He answered that he did know; and, what ismore, he mentioned the place.

Sir Patrick saw that further opposition on his part, at thatmoment, would be worse than useless. He wisely determined towait, before he interfered again, until Lady Lundie hadthoroughly exhausted herself and her inquiries. At the sametime--as it was impossible, in the present state of herladyship's temper, to provide against what might happen if theinquiries after Anne unluckily proved successful--he decided ontaking measures to clear the house of the guests (in theinterests of all parties) for the next four-and-twenty hours.

"I only want to ask you a question, Lady Lundie," he resumed."The position of the gentlemen who are staying here is not a verypleasant one while all this is going on. If you had been contentto let the matter pass without notice, we should have done verywell. As things are, don't you think it will be more convenientto every body if I relieve you of the responsibility ofentertaining your guests?"

"As head of the family?" stipulated Lady Lundie.

"As head of the family!" answered Sir Patrick.

"I gratefully accept the proposal," said Lady Lundie.

"I beg you won't mention it," rejoined Sir Patrick.

He quitted the room, leaving Jonathan under examination. He andhis brother (the late Sir Thomas) had chosen widely differentpaths in life, and had seen but little of each other since thetime when they had been boys. Sir Patrick's recollections (onleaving Lady Lundie) appeared to have taken him back to thattime, and to have inspired him with a certain tenderness for hisbrother's memory. He shook his head, and sighed a sad littlesigh. "Poor Tom!" he said to himself, softly, after he had shutthe door on his brother's widow. "Poor Tom!"

On crossing the hall, he stopped the first servant he met, toinquire after Blanche. Miss Blanche was quiet, up stairs,closeted with her maid in her own room. "Quiet?" thought SirPatrick. "That's a bad sign. I shall hear more of my niece."

Pending that event, the next thing to do was to find the guests.Unerring instinct led Sir Patrick to the billiard-room. There hefound them, in solemn conclave assembled. wondering what they hadbetter do. Sir Patrick put them all at their ease in two minutes.

"What do you say to a day's shooting to-morrow?" he asked.

Every man present--sportsman or not--said yes.

"You can start from this house," pursued Sir Patrick; "or you canstart from a shooting-cottage which is on the Windygatesproperty--among the woods, on the other side of the moor. Theweather looks pretty well settled (for Scotland), and there areplenty of horses in the stables. It is useless to conceal fromyou, gentlemen, that events have taken a certain unexpected turnin my sister-in-law's family circle. You will be equally LadyLundie's guests, whether you choose the cottage or the house. Forthe next twenty-four hours (let us say)--which shall it be?"

Every body--with or without rheumatism--answered "the cottage."

"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick, "It is arranged to ride over tothe shooting-cottage this evening, and to try the moor, on thatside, the first thing in the morning. If events here will allowme, I shall be delighted to accompany you, and do the honors aswell as I can. If not, I am sure you will accept my apologies forto-night, and permit Lady Lundie's steward to see to your comfortin my place."

Adopted unanimously. Sir Patrick left the guests to theirbilliards, and went out to give the necessary orders at thestables.

In the mean time Blanche remained portentously quiet in the upperregions of the house; while Lady Lundie steadily pursued herinquiries down stairs. She got on from Jonathan (last of themales, indoors) to the coachman (first of the males,out-of-doors), and dug down, man by man, through that newstratum, until she struck the stable-boy at the bottom . Not anatom of information having been extracted in the house or out ofthe house, from man or boy, her ladyship fell back on the womennext. She pulled the bell, and summoned the cook--HesterDethridge.

A very remarkable-looking person entered the room.

Elderly and quiet; scrupulously clean; eminently respectable; hergray hair neat and smooth under her modest white cap; her eyes,set deep in their orbits, looking straight at any person whospoke to her--here, at a first view, was a steady, trust-worthywoman. Here also on closer inspection, was a woman with the sealof some terrible past suffering set on her for the rest of herlife. You felt it, rather than saw it, in the look of immovableendurance which underlain her expression--in the deathliketranquillity which never disappeared from her manner. Her storywas a sad one--so far as it was known. She had entered LadyLundie's service at the period of Lady Lundie's marriage to SirThomas. Her character (given by the clergyman of her parish)described her as having been married to an inveterate drunkard,and as having suffered unutterably during her husband's lifetime.There were drawbacks to engaging her, now that she was a widow.On one of the many occasions on which her husband had personallyill-treated her, he had struck her a blow which had produced veryremarkable nervous results. She had lain insensible many daystogether, and had recovered with the total loss of her speech. Inaddition to this objection, she was odd, at times, in her manner;and she made it a condition of accepting any situation, that sheshould be privileged to sleep in a room by herself As a set-offagainst all this, it was to be said, on the other side of thequestion, that she was sober; rigidly honest in all her dealings;and one of the best cooks in England. In consideration of thislast merit, the late Sir Thomas had decided on giving her atrial, and had discovered that he had never dined in his life ashe dined when Hester Dethridge was at the head of his kitchen.She remained after his death in his widow's service. Lady Lundiewas far from liking her. An unpleasant suspicion attached to thecook, which Sir Thomas had over-looked, but which persons lesssensible of the immense importance of dining well could not failto regard as a serious objection to her. Medical men, consultedabout her case discovered certain physiological anomalies in itwhich led them to suspect the woman of feigning dumbness, forsome reason best known to herself. She obstinately declined tolearn the deaf and dumb alphabet--on the ground that dumbness wasnot associated with deafness in her case. Stratagems wereinvented (seeing that she really did possess the use of her ears)to entrap her into also using her speech, and failed. Effortswere made to induce her to answer questions relating to her pastlife in her husband's time. She flatly declined to reply to them,one and all. At certain intervals, strange impulses to get aholiday away from the house appeared to seize her. If she wasresisted, she passively declined to do her work. If she wasthreatened with dismissal, she impenetrably bowed her head, asmuch as to say, "Give me the word, and I go." Over and overagain, Lady Lundie had decided, naturally enough, on no longerkeeping such a servant as this; but she had never yet carried thedecision to execution. A cook who is a perfect mistress of herart, who asks for no perquisites, who allows no waste, who neverquarrels with the other servants, who drinks nothing strongerthan tea, who is to be trusted with untold gold--is not a cookeasily replaced. In this mortal life we put up with many personsand things, as Lady Lundie put up with her cook. The woman lived,as it were, on the brink of dismissal--but thus far the womankept her place--getting her holidays when she asked for them(which, to do her justice, was not often) and sleeping always (gowhere she might with the family) with a locked door, in a room byherself.

Hester Dethridge advanced slowly to the table at which LadyLundie was sitting. A slate and pencil hung at her side, whichshe used for making such replies as were not to be expressed by agesture or by a motion of the head. She took up the slate andpencil, and waited with stony submission for her mistress tobegin.

Lady Lundie opened the proceedings with the regular formula ofinquiry which she had used with all the other servants

"Do you know that Miss Silvester has left the house?"

The cook nodded her head affirmatively,

"Do you know at what time she left it?"

Another affirmative reply. The first which Lady Lundie hadreceived to that question yet. She eagerly went on to the nextinquiry.

"Have you seen her since she left the house?"

A third affirmative reply.

"Where?"

Hester Dethridge wrote slowly on the slate, in singularly firmupright characters for a woman in her position of life, thesewords:

"On the road that leads to the railway. Nigh to Mistress Chew'sFarm."

"What did you want at Chew's Farm?"

Hester Dethridge wrote: "I wanted eggs for the kitchen, and abreath of fresh air for myself."

"Did Miss Silvester see you?"

A negative shake of the head.

"Did she take the turning that leads to the railway?"

Another negative shake of the head.

"She went on, toward the moor?"

An affirmative reply.

"What did she do when she got to the moor?"

Hester Dethridge wrote: "She took the footpath which leads toCraig Fernie."

Lady Lundie rose excitedly to her feet. There was but one placethat a stranger could go to at Craig Fernie. "The inn!" exclaimedher ladyship. "She has gone to the inn!"

Hester Dethridge waited immovably. Lady Lundie put a lastprecautionary question, in these words:

"Have you reported what you have seen to any body else?"

An affirmative reply. Lady Lundie had not bargained for that.Hester Dethridge (she thought) must surely have misunderstoodher.

"Do you mean that you have told somebody else what you have justtold me?"

Another affirmative reply.

"A person who questioned you, as I have done?"

A third affirmative reply.

"Who was it?"

Hester Dethridge wrote on her slate: "Miss Blanche."

Lady Lundie stepped back, staggered by the discovery thatBlanche's resolution to trace Anne Silvester was, to allappearance, as firmly settled as her own. Her step-daughter waskeeping her own counsel, and acting on her ownresponsibility--her step-daughter might be an awkward obstacle inthe way. The manner in which Anne had left the house had mortallyoffended Lady Lundie. An inveterately vindictive woman, she hadresolved to discover whatever compromising elements might existin the governess's secret, and to make them public property (froma paramount sense of duty, of course) among her own circle offriends. But to do this--with Blanche acting (as might certainlybe anticipated) in direct opposition to her, and openly espousingMiss Silvester's interests--was manifestly impossible.

The first thing to be done--and that instantly--was to informBlanche that she was discovered, and to forbid her to stir in thematter.

Lady Lundie rang the bell twice--thus intimating, according tothe laws of the household, that she required the attendance ofher own maid. She then turned to the cook--still waiting herpleasure, with stony composure, slate in hand.

"You have done wrong," said her ladyship, severely. "I am yourmistress. You are bound to answer your mistress--"

Hester Dethridge bowed her head, in icy acknowledgment of theprinciple laid down--so far.

The bow was an interruption. Lady Lundie resented it.

"But Miss Blanche is _not_ your mistress," she went on, sternly."You are very much to blame for answering Miss Blanche'sinquiries about Miss Silvester."

Hester Dethridge, perfectly unmoved, wrote her justification onher slate, in two stiff sentences: "I had no orders _not_ toanswer. I keep nobody's secrets but my own."

That reply settled the question of the cook's dismissal--thequestion which had been pending for months past.

"You are an insolent woman! I have borne with you long enough--Iwill bear with you no longer. When your month is up, you go!"

In those words Lady Lundie dismissed Hester Dethridge from herservice.

Not the slightest change passed over the sinister tranquillity ofthe cook. She bowed her head again, in acknowledgment of thesentence pronounced on her--dropped her slate at her side--turnedabout--and left the room. The woman was alive in the world, andworking in the world; and yet (so far as all human interests wereconcerned) she was as completely out of the world as if she hadbeen screwed down in her coffin, and laid in her grave.

Lady Lundie's maid came into the room as Hester left it.

"Go up stairs to Miss Blanche," said her mistress, "and say Iwant her here. Wait a minute!" She paused, and considered.Blanche might decline to submit to her step-mother's interferencewith her. It might be necessary to appeal to the higher authorityof her guardian. "Do you know where Sir Patrick is?" asked LadyLundie.

"I heard Simpson say, my lady, that Sir Patrick was at thestables."

"Send Simpson with a message. My compliments to Sir Patrick--andI wish to see him immediately."

* * * * * *

The preparations for the departure to the shooting-cottage werejust completed; and the one question that remained to be settledwas, whether Sir Patrick could accompany the party--when theman-servant appeared with the message from his mistress.

"Will you give me a quarter of an hour, gentlemen?" asked SirPatrick. "In that time I shall know for certain whether I can gowith you or not."

As a matter of course, the guests decided to wait. The youngermen among them (being Englishmen) naturally occupied theirleisure time in betting. Would Sir Patrick get the better of thedomestic crisis? or would the domestic crisis get the better ofSir Patrick? The domestic crisis was backed, at two to one, towin.

Punctually at the expiration of the quarter of an hour, SirPatrick reappeared. The domestic crisis had betrayed the blindconfidence which youth and inexperience had placed in it. SirPatrick had won the day.

"Things are settled and quiet, gentlemen; and I am able toaccompany you," he said. "There are two ways to theshooting-cottage. One--the longest--passes by the inn at CraigFernie. I am compelled to ask you to go with me by that way.While you push on to the cottage, I must drop behind, and say aword to a person who is staying at the inn."

He had quieted Lady Lundie--he had even quieted Blanche. But itwas evidently on the condition that he was to go to Craig Ferniein their places, and to see Anne Silvester himself. Without aword more of explanation he mounted his horse, and led the wayout. The shooting-party left Windygates.