BLANCHE came in, with a glass of wine in her hand, and saw theswooning woman on the floor.

She was alarmed, but not surprised, as she knelt by Anne, andraised her head. Her own previous observation of her friendnecessarily prevented her from being at any loss to account forthe fainting fit. The inevitable delay in getting the winewas--naturally to her mind--alone to blame for the result whichnow met her view.

If she had been less ready in thus tracing the effect to thecause, she might have gone to the window to see if any thing hadhappened, out-of-doors, to frighten Anne--might have seenGeoffrey before he had time to turn the corner of the house--and,making that one discovery, might have altered the whole course ofevents, not in her coming life only, but in the coming lives ofothers. So do we shape our own destinies, blindfold. So do wehold our poor little tenure of happiness at the capricious mercyof Chance. It is surely a blessed delusion which persuades usthat we are the highest product of the great scheme of creation,and sets us doubting whether other planets are inhabited, becauseother planets are not surrounded by an atmosphere which _we_ canbreathe!

After trying such simple remedies as were within her reach, andtrying them without success, Blanche became seriously alarmed.Anne lay, to all outward appearance, dead in her arms. She was onthe point of calling for help--come what might of the discoverywhich would ensue--when the door from the hall opened once more,and Hester Dethridge entered the room.

The cook had accepted the alternative which her mistress'smessage had placed before her, if she insisted on having her owntime at her own sole disposal for the rest of that day. Exactlyas Lady Lundie had desired, she intimated her resolution to carryher point by placing her account-book on the desk in the library.It was only when this had been done that Blanche received anyanswer to her entreaties for help. Slowly and deliberately HesterDethridge walked up to the spot where the young girl knelt withAnne's head on her bosom, and looked at the two without a traceof human emotion in her stern and stony face.

"Don't you see what's happened?" cried Blanche. "Are you alive ordead? Oh, Hester, I can't bring her to! Look at her! look ather!"

Hester Dethridge looked at her, and shook her head. Looked again,thought for a while and wrote on her slate. Held out the slateover Anne's body, and showed what she had written:

"Who has done it?"

"You stupid creature!" said Blanche. "Nobody has done it."

The eyes of Hester Dethridge steadily read the worn white face,telling its own tale of sorrow mutely on Blanche's breast. Themind of Hester Dethridge steadily looked back at her ownknowledge of her own miserable married life. She again returnedto writing on her slate--again showed the written words toBlanche.

"Brought to it by a man. Let her be--and God will take her."

"You horrid unfeeling woman! how dare you write such anabominable thing!" With this natural outburst of indignation,Blanche looked back at Anne; and, daunted by the death-likepersistency of the swoon, appealed again to the mercy of theimmovable woman who was looking down at her. "Oh, Hester! forHeaven's sake help me!"

The cook dropped her slate at her side. and bent her head gravelyin sign that she submitted. She motioned to Blanche to loosenAnne's dress, and then--kneeling on one knee--took Anne tosupport her while it was being done.

The instant Hester Dethridge touched her, the swooning woman gavesigns of life.

A faint shudder ran through her from head to foot--her eyelidstrembled--half opened for a moment--and closed again. As theyclosed, a low sigh fluttered feebly from her lips.

Hester Dethridge put her back in Blanche's arms--considered alittle with herself--returned to writing on her slate--and heldout the written words once more:

"Shivered when I touched her. That means I have been walking overher grave."

Blanche turned from the sight of the slate, and from the sight ofthe woman, in horror. "You frighten me!" she said. "You willfrighten _ her_ if she sees you. I don't mean to offend you;but--leave us, please leave us."

Hester Dethridge accepted her dismissal, as she accepted everything else. She bowed her head in sign that sheunderstood--looked for the last time at Anne--dropped a stiffcourtesy to her young mistress--and left the room.

An hour later the butler had paid her, and she had left thehouse.

Blanche breathed more freely when she found herself alone. Shecould feel the relief now of seeing Anne revive.

"Can you hear me, darling?" she whispered. "Can you let me leaveyou for a moment?"

Anne's eyes slowly opened and looked round her--in that tormentand terror of reviving life which marks the awful protest ofhumanity against its recall to existence when mortal mercy hasdared to wake it in the arms of Death.

Blanche rested Anne's head against the nearest chair, and ran tothe table upon which she had placed the wine on entering theroom.

After swallowing the first few drops Anne begun to feel theeffect of the stimulant. Blanche persisted in making her emptythe glass, and refrained from asking or answering questions untilher recovery under the influence of the wine was complete.

"You have overexerted yourself this morning," she said, as soonas it seemed safe to speak. "Nobody has seen you,darling--nothing has happened. Do you feel like yourself again?"

Anne made an attempt to rise and leave the library; Blancheplaced her gently in the chair, and went on:

"There is not the least need to stir. We have another quarter ofan hour to ourselves before any body is at all likely to disturbus. I have something to say, Anne--a little proposal to make.Will you listen to me?"

Anne took Blanche's hand, and p ressed it gratefully to her lips.She made no other reply. Blanche proceeded:

"I won't ask any questions, my dear--I won't attempt to keep youhere against your will--I won't even remind you of my letteryesterday. But I can't let you go, Anne, without having my mindmade easy about you in some way. You will relieve all my anxiety,if you will do one thing--one easy thing for my sake."

"What is it, Blanche?"

She put that question with her mind far away from the subjectbefore her. Blanche was too eager in pursuit of her object tonotice the absent tone, the purely mechanical manner, in whichAnne had spoken to her.

"I want you to consult my uncle," she answered. "Sir Patrick isinterested in you; Sir Patrick proposed to me this very day to goand see you at the inn. He is the wisest, the kindest, thedearest old man living--and you can trust him as you could trustnobody else. Will you take my uncle into your confidence, and beguided by his advice?"

With her mind still far away from the subject, Anne looked outabsently at the lawn, and made no answer.

"Come!" said Blanche. "One word isn't much to say. Is it Yes orNo?"

Still looking out on the lawn--still thinking of somethingelse--Anne yielded, and said "Yes."

Blanche was enchanted. "How well I must have managed it!" shethought. "This is what my uncle means, when my uncle talks of'putting it strongly.' "

She bent down over Anne, and gayly patted her on the shoulder.

"That's the wisest 'Yes,' darling, you ever said in your life.Wait here--and I'll go in to luncheon, or they will be sending toknow what has become of me. Sir Patrick has kept my place for me,next to himself. I shall contrive to tell him what I want; and_he_ will contrive (oh, the blessing of having to do with aclever man; these are so few of them!)--he will contrive to leavethe table before the rest, without exciting any body'ssuspicions. Go away with him at once to the summer-house (we havebeen at the summer-house all the morning; nobody will go back toit now), and I will follow you as soon as I have satisfied LadyLundie by eating some lunch. Nobody will be any the wiser but ourthree selves. In five minutes or less you may expect Sir Patrick.Let me go! We haven't a moment to lose!"

Anne held her back. Anne's attention was concentrated on her now.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Are you going on happily with Arnold, Blanche?"

"Arnold is nicer than ever, my dear."

"Is the day fixed for your marriage?"

"The day will be ages hence. Not till we are back in town, at theend of the autumn. Let me go, Anne!"

"Give me a kiss, Blanche."

Blanche kissed her, and tried to release her hand. Anne held itas if she was drowning, as if her life depended on not letting itgo.

"Will you always love me, Blanche, as you love me now?"

"How can you ask me!"

"_I_ said Yes just now. _You_ say Yes too."

Blanche said it. Anne's eyes fastened on her face, with one long,yearning look, and then Anne's hand suddenly dropped hers.

She ran out of the room, more agitated, more uneasy, than sheliked to confess to herself. Never had she felt so certain of theurgent necessity of appealing to Sir Patrick's advice as she feltat that moment.

The guests were still safe at the luncheon-table when Blancheentered the dining-room.

Lady Lundie expressed the necessary surprise, in the properlygraduated tone of reproof, at her step-daughter's want ofpunctuality. Blanche made her apologies with the most exemplaryhumility. She glided into her chair by her uncle's side, and tookthe first thing that was offered to her. Sir Patrick looked athis niece, and found himself in the company of a model youngEnglish Miss--and marveled inwardly what it might mean.

The talk, interrupted for the moment (topics, Politics andSport--and then, when a change was wanted, Sport and Politics),was resumed again all round the table. Under cover of theconversation, and in the intervals of receiving the attentions ofthe gentlemen, Blanche whispered to Sir Patrick, "Don't start,uncle. Anne is in the library." (Polite Mr. Smith offered someham. Gratefully declined.) "Pray, pray, pray go to her; she iswaiting to see you--she is in dreadful trouble." (Gallant Mr.Jones proposed fruit tart and cream. Accepted with thanks.) "Takeher to the summer-house: I'll follow you when I get the chance.And manage it at once, uncle, if you love me, or you will be toolate."

Before Sir Patrick could whisper back a word in reply, LadyLundie, cutting a cake of the richest Scottish composition, atthe other end of the table, publicly proclaimed it to be her "owncake," and, as such, offered her brother-in-law a slice. Theslice exhibited an eruption of plums and sweetmeats, overlaid bya perspiration of butter. It has been said that Sir Patrick hadreached the age of seventy--it is, therefore, needless to addthat he politely declined to commit an unprovoked outrage on hisown stomach.

"MY cake!" persisted Lady Lundie, elevating the horriblecomposition on a fork. "Won't that tempt you?"

Sir Patrick saw his way to slipping out of the room under coverof a compliment to his sister-in-law. He summoned his courtlysmile, and laid his hand on his heart.

"A fallible mortal," he said, "is met by a temptation which hecan not possibly resist. If he is a wise mortal, also, what doeshe do?"

"He eats some of My cake," said the prosaic Lady Lundie.

"No!" said Sir Patrick, with a look of unutterable devotiondirected at his sister-in-law.

"He flies temptation, dear lady--as I do now." He bowed, andescaped, unsuspected, from the room.

Lady Lundie cast down her eyes, with an expression of virtuousindulgence for human frailty, and divided Sir Patrick'scompliment modestly between herself and her cake.

Well aware that his own departure from the table would befollowed in a few minutes by the rising of the lady of the house,Sir Patrick hurried to the library as fast as his lame foot wouldlet him. Now that he was alone, his manner became anxious, andhis face looked grave. He entered the room.

Not a sign of Anne Silvester was to be seen any where. Thelibrary was a perfect solitude.

"Gone!" said Sir Patrick. "This looks bad."

After a moment's reflection he went back into the hall to get hishat. It was possible that she might have been afraid of discoveryif she staid in the library, and that she might have gone on tothe summer-house by herself.

If she was not to be found in the summer-house, the quieting ofBlanche's mind and the clearing up of her uncle's suspicionsalike depended on discovering the place in which Miss Silvesterhad taken refuge. In this case time would be of importance, andthe capacity of making the most of it would be a preciouscapacity at starting. Arriving rapidly at these conclusions, SirPatrick rang the bell in the hall which communicated with theservants' offices, and summoned his own valet--a person of trieddiscretion and fidelity, nearly as old as himself.

"Get your hat, Duncan," he said, when the valet appeared, "andcome out with me."

Master and servant set forth together silently on their waythrough the grounds. Arrived within sight of the summer-house,Sir Patrick ordered Duncan to wait, and went on by himself.

There was not the least need for the precaution that he hadtaken. The summer-house was as empty as the library. He steppedout again and looked about him. Not a living creature wasvisible. Sir Patrick summoned his servant to join him.

"Go back to the stables, Duncan," he said, "and say that MissLundie lends me her pony-carriage to-day. Let it be got ready atonce and kept in the stable-yard. I want to attract as littlenotice as possible. You are to go with me, and nobody else.Provide yourself with a railway time-table. Have you got anymoney?"

"Yes, Sir Patrick."

"Did you happen to see the governess (Miss Silvester) on the daywhen we came here--the day of the lawn-party?"

"I did, Sir Patrick."

"Should you know her again?"

"I thought her a very distinguished-looking person, Sir Patrick.I should certainly know her again."

"Have you any reason to think she noticed you?"

"She never even looked at me,Sir Patrick."

"Very good. Put a change of linen into your bag, Duncan--I maypossibly want you to take a journey by railway. Wait for me inthe stable-yard. This is a matter in which every thing is trustedto my discretion, and to yours."

"Thank you, Sir Patrick."

With that acknowledgment of the compliment which had been justpaid to him, Duncan gravely went his way to the stables; andDuncan's master returned to the summer-house, to wait there untilhe was joined by Blanche.

Sir Patrick showed signs of failing patience during the intervalof expectation through which he was now condemned to pass. Heapplied perpetually to the snuff-box in the knob of his cane. Hefidgeted incessantly in and out of the summer-house. Anne'sdisappearance had placed a serious obstacle in the way of furtherdiscovery; and there was no attacking that obstacle, untilprecious time had been wasted in waiting to see Blanche.

At last she appeared in view, from the steps of the summer-house;breathless and eager, hasting to the place of meeting as fast asher feet would take her to it.

Sir Patrick considerately advanced, to spare her the shock ofmaking the inevitable discovery. "Blanche," he said. "Try toprepare yourself, my dear, for a disappointment. I am alone."

"You don't mean that you have let her go?"

"My poor child! I have never seen her at all."

Blanche pushed by him, and ran into the summer-house. Sir Patrickfollowed her. She came out again to meet him, with a look ofblank despair. "Oh, uncle! I did so truly pity her! And see howlittle pity she has for _me!_"

Sir Patrick put his arm round his niece, and softly patted thefair young head that dropped on his shoulder.

"Don't let us judge her harshly, my dear: we don't know whatserious necessity may not plead her excuse. It is plain that shecan trust nobody--and that she only consented to see me to getyou out of the room and spare you the pain of parting. Composeyourself, Blanche. I don't despair of discovering where she hasgone, if you will help me."

Blanche lifted her head, and dried her tears bravely.

"My father himself wasn't kinder to me than you are," she said."Only tell me, uncle, what I can do!"

"I want to hear exactly what happened in the library," said SirPatrick. "Forget nothing, my dear child, no matter how triflingit may be. Trifles are precious to us, and minutes are preciousto us, now."

Blanche followed her instructions to the letter, her unclelistening with the closest attention. When she had completed hernarrative, Sir Patrick suggested leaving the summer-house. "Ihave ordered your chaise," he said; "and I can tell you what Ipropose doing on our way to the stable-yard."

"Let me drive you, uncle!"

"Forgive me, my dear, for saying No to that. Your step-mother'ssuspicions are very easily excited--and you had better not beseen with me if my inquiries take me to the Craig Fernie inn. Ipromise, if you will remain here, to tell you every thing when Icome back. Join the others in any plan they have for theafternoon--and you will prevent my absence from exciting anything more than a passing remark. You will do as I tell you?That's a good girl! Now you shall hear how I propose to searchfor this poor lady, and how your little story has helped me."

He paused, considering with himself whether he should begin bytelling Blanche of his consultation with Geoffrey. Once more, hedecided that question in the negative. Better to still defertaking her into his confidence until he had performed the errandof investigation on which he was now setting forth.

"What you have told me, Blanche, divides itself, in my mind, intotwo heads," began Sir Patrick. "There is what happened in thelibrary before your own eyes; and there is what Miss Silvestertold you had happened at the inn. As to the event in the library(in the first place), it is too late now to inquire whether thatfainting-fit was the result, as you say, of mere exhaustion--orwhether it was the result of something that occurred while youwere out of the room."

"What could have happened while I was out of the room?"

"I know no more than you do, my dear. It is simply one of thepossibilities in the case, and, as such, I notice it. To get onto what practically concerns us; if Miss Silvester is in delicatehealth it is impossible that she could get, unassisted, to anygreat distance from Windygates. She may have taken refuge in oneof the cottages in our immediate neighborhood. Or she may havemet with some passing vehicle from one of the farms on its way tothe station, and may have asked the person driving to give her aseat in it. Or she may have walked as far as she can, and mayhave stopped to rest in some sheltered place, among the lanes tothe south of this house."

"I'll inquire at the cottages, uncle, while you are gone."

"My dear child, there must be a dozen cottages, at least, withina circle of one mile from Windygates! Your inquiries wouldprobably occupy you for the whole afternoon. I won't ask whatLady Lundie would think of your being away all that time byyourself. I will only remind you of two things. You would bemaking a public matter of an investigation which it is essentialto pursue as privately as possible; and, even if you happened tohit on the right cottage your inquiries would be completelybaffled, and you would discover nothing."

"Why not?"

"I know the Scottish peasant better than you do, Blanche. In hisintelligence and his sense of self-respect he is a very differentbeing from the English peasant. He would receive you civilly,because you are a young lady; but he would let you see, at thesame time, that he considered you had taken advantage of thedifference between your position and his position to commit anintrusion. And if Miss Silvester had appealed, in confidence, tohis hospitality, and if he had granted it, no power on earthwould induce him to tell any person living that she was under hisroof--without her express permission."

"But, uncle, if it's of no use making inquiries of any body, howare we to find her?"

"I don't say that nobody will answer our inquiries, my dear--Ionly say the peasantry won't answer them, if your friend hastrusted herself to their protection. The way to find her is tolook on, beyond what Miss Silvester may be doing at the presentmoment, to what Miss Silvester contemplates doing--let us say,before the day is out. We may assume, I think (after what hashappened), that, as soon as she can leave this neighborhood, sheassuredly will leave it. Do you agree, so far?"

"Yes! yes! Go on."

"Very well. She is a woman, and she is (to say the least of it)not strong. She can only leave this neighborhood either by hiringa vehicle or by traveling on the railway. I propose going firstto the station. At the rate at which your pony gets over theground, there is a fair chance, in spite of the time we havelost, of my being there as soon as she is--assuming that sheleaves by the first train, up or down, that passes."

"There is a train in half an hour, uncle. She can never get therein time for that."

"She may be less exhausted than we think; or she may get a lift;or she may not be alone. How do we know but somebody may havebeen waiting in the lane--her husband, if there is such aperson--to help her? No! I shall assume she is now on her way tothe station; and I shall get there as fast as possible--"

"And stop her, if you find her there?"

"What I do, Blanche, must be left to my discretion. If I find herthere, I must act for the best. If I don't find her there, Ishall leave Duncan (who goes with me) on the watch for theremaining trains, until the last to-night. He knows MissSilvester by sight, and he is sure that _she_ has never noticed_him._ Whether she goes north or south, early or late, Duncanwill have my orders to follow her. He is thoroughly to be reliedon. If she takes the railway, I answer for it we shall know whereshe goes."

"How clever of you to think of Duncan!"

"Not in the least, my dear. Duncan is my factotum; and the courseI am taking is the obvious course which would have occurred toany body. Let us get to the re ally difficult part of it now.Suppose she hires a carriage?"

"There are none to be had, except at the station."

"There are farmers about here - and farmers have light carts, orchaises, or something of the sort. It is in the last degreeunlikely that they would consent to let her have them. Still,women break through difficulties which stop men. And this is aclever woman, Blanche--a woman, you may depend on it, who is benton preventing you from tracing her. I confess I wish we hadsomebody we could trust lounging about where those two roadsbranch off from the road that leads to the railway. I must go inanother direction; _I_ can't do it."

"Arnold can do it!"

Sir Patrick looked a little doubtful. "Arnold is an excellentfellow," he said. "But can we trust to his discretion?"

"He is, next to you, the most perfectly discreet person I know,"rejoined Blanche, in a very positive manner; "and, what is more,I have told him every thing about Anne, except what has happenedto-day. I am afraid I shall tell him _that,_ when I feel lonelyand miserable, after you have gone. There is something inArnold--I don't know what it is--that comforts me. Besides, doyou think he would betray a secret that I gave him to keep? Youdon't know how devoted he is to me!"

"My dear Blanche, I am not the cherished object of his devotion;of course I don't know! You are the only authority on that point.I stand corrected. Let us have Arnold, by all means. Caution himto be careful; and send him out by himself, where the roads meet.We have now only one other place left in which there is a chanceof finding a trace of her. I undertake to make the necessaryinvestigation at the Craig Fernie inn."

"The Craig Fernie inn? Uncle! you have forgotten what I toldyou."

"Wait a little, my dear. Miss Silvester herself has left the inn,I grant you. But (if we should unhappily fail in finding her byany other means) Miss Silvester has left a trace to guide us atCraig Fernie. That trace must be picked up at once, in case ofaccidents. You don't seem to follow me? I am getting over theground as fast as the pony gets over it. I have arrived at thesecond of those two heads into which your story divides itself inmy mind. What did Miss Silvester tell you had happened at theinn?"

"She lost a letter at the inn."

"Exactly. She lost a letter at the inn; that is one event. AndBishopriggs, the waiter, has quarreled with Mrs. Inchbare, andhas left his situation; that is another event. As to the letterfirst. It is either really lost, or it has been stolen. In eithercase, if we can lay our hands on it, there is at least a chanceof its helping us to discover something. As to Bishopriggs,next--"

"You're not going to talk about the waiter, surely?"

"I am! Bishopriggs possesses two important merits. He is a linkin my chain of reasoning; and he is an old friend of mine."

"A friend of yours?"

"We live in days, my dear, when one workman talks of anotherworkman as 'that gentleman.'--I march with the age, and feelbound to mention my clerk as my friend. A few years sinceBishopriggs was employed in the clerks' room at my chambers. Heis one of the most intelligent and most unscrupulous oldvagabonds in Scotland; perfectly honest as to all average mattersinvolving pounds, shillings, and pence; perfectly unprincipled inthe pursuit of his own interests, where the violation of a trustlies on the boundary-line which marks the limit of the law. Imade two unpleasant discoveries when I had him in my employment.I found that he had contrived to supply himself with a duplicateof my seal; and I had the strongest reason to suspect him oftampering with some papers belonging to two of my clients. He haddone no actual mischief, so far; and I had no time to waste inmaking out the necessary case against him. He was dismissed frommy service, as a man who was not to be trusted to respect anyletters or papers that happened to pass through his hands."

"I see, uncle! I see!"

"Plain enough now--isn't it? If that missing letter of MissSilvester's is a letter of no importance, I am inclined tobelieve that it is merely lost, and may be found again. If, onthe other hand, there is any thing in it that could promise themost remote advantage to any person in possession of it, then, inthe execrable slang of the day, I will lay any odds, Blanche,that Bishopriggs has got the letter!"

"And he has left the inn! How unfortunate!"

"Unfortunate as causing delay--nothing worse than that. Unless Iam very much mistaken, Bishopriggs will come back to the inn. Theold rascal (there is no denying it) is a most amusing person. Heleft a terrible blank when he left my clerks' room. Old customersat Craig Fernie (especially the English), in missing Bishopriggs,will, you may rely on it, miss one of the attractions of the inn.Mrs. Inchbare is not a woman to let her dignity stand in the wayof her business. She and Bishopriggs will come together again,sooner or later, and make it up. When I have put certainquestions to her, which may possibly lead to very importantresults, I shall leave a letter for Bishopriggs in Mrs.Inchbare's hands. The letter will tell him I have something forhim to do, and will contain an address at which he can write tome. I shall hear of him, Blanche and, if the letter is in hispossession, I shall get it."

"Won't he be afraid--if he has stolen the letter--to tell you hehas got it?"

"Very well put, my child. He might hesitate with other people.But I have my own way of dealing with him - and I know how tomake him tell Me.--Enough of Bishopriggs till his time comes.There is one other point, in regard to Miss Silvester. I may haveto describe her. How was she dressed when she came here?Remember, I am a man--and (if an Englishwoman's dress _can_ bedescribed in an Englishwoman's language) tell me, in English,what she had on."

"She wore a straw hat, with corn-flowers in it, and a white veil.Corn-flowers at one side uncle, which is less common thancornflowers in front. And she had on a light gray shawl. And a_Piqué_--"

"There you go with your French! Not a word more! A straw hat,with a white veil, and with corn-flowers at one side of the hat.And a light gray shawl. That's as much as the ordinary male mindcan take in; and that will do. I have got my instructions, andsaved precious time. So far so good. Here we are at the end ofour conference--in other words, at the gate of the stable-yard.You understand what you have to do while I am away?"

"I have to send Arnold to the cross-roads. And I have to behave(if I can) as if nothing had happened."

"Good child! Well put again! you have got what I call grasp ofmind, Blanche. An invaluable faculty! You will govern the futuredomestic kingdom. Arnold will be nothing but a constitutionalhusband. Those are the only husbands who are thoroughly happy.You shall hear every thing, my love, when I come lack. Got yourbag, Duncan? Good. And the time-table? Good. You take thereins--I won't drive. I want to think. Driving is incompatiblewith intellectual exertion. A man puts his mind into his horse,and sinks to the level of that useful animal--as a necessarycondition of getting to his destination without being upset. Godbless you, Blanche! To the station, Duncan! to the station!"