THE chaise rattled our through the gates. The dogs barkedfuriously. Sir Patrick looked round, and waved his hand as heturned the corner of the road. Blanche was left alone in theyard.

She lingered a little, absently patting the dogs. They hadespecial claims on her sympathy at that moment; they, too,evidently thought it hard to be left behind at the house. After awhile she roused herself. Sir Patrick had left the responsibilityof superintending the crossroads on her shoulders. There wassomething to be done yet before the arrangements for tracing Annewere complete. Blanche left the yard to do it.

On her way back to the house she met Arnold, dispatched by LadyLundie in search of her.

The plan of occupation for the afternoon had been settled duringBlanche's absence. Some demon had whispe red to Lady Lundie tocultivate a taste for feudal antiquities, and to insist onspreading that taste among her guests. She had proposed anexcursion to an old baronial castle among the hills--far to thewestward (fortunately for Sir Patrick's chance of escapingdiscovery) of the hills at Craig Fernie. Some of the guests wereto ride, and some to accompany their hostess in the opencarriage. Looking right and left for proselytes, Lady Lundie hadnecessarily remarked the disappearance of certain members of hercircle. Mr. Delamayn had vanished, nobody knew where. Sir Patrickand Blanche had followed his example. Her ladyship had observed,upon this, with some asperity, that if they were all to treateach other in that unceremonious manner, the sooner Windygateswas turned into a Penitentiary, on the silent system, the fitterthe house would be for the people who inhabited it. Under thesecircumstances, Arnold suggested that Blanche would do well tomake her excuses as soon as possible at head-quarters, and acceptthe seat in the carriage which her step-mother wished her totake. "We are in for the feudal antiquities, Blanche; and we musthelp each other through as well as we can. If you will go in thecarriage, I'll go too."

Blanche shook her head.

"There are serious reasons for _my_ keeping up appearances," shesaid. "I shall go in the carriage. You mustn't go at all."

Arnold naturally looked a little surprised, and asked to befavored with an explanation.

Blanche took his arm and hugged it close. Now that Anne was lost,Arnold was more precious to her than ever. She literally hungeredto hear at that moment, from his own lips, how fond he was ofher. It mattered nothing that she was already perfectly satisfiedon this point. It was so nice (after he had said it five hundredtimes already) to make him say it once more!

"Suppose I had no explanation to give?" she said. "Would you staybehind by yourself to please me?"

"I would do any thing to please you!"

"Do you really love me as much as that?"

They were still in the yard; and the only witnesses present werethe dogs. Arnold answered in the language without words--which isnevertheless the most expressive language in use, between men andwomen, all over the world.

"This is not doing my duty," said Blanche, penitently. "But, ohArnold, I am so anxious and so miserable! And it _is_ such aconsolation to know that _you_ won't turn your back on me too!"

With that preface she told him what had happened in the library.Even Blanche's estimate of her lover's capacity for sympathizingwith her was more than realized by the effect which her narrativeproduced on Arnold. He was not merely surprised and sorry forher. His face showed plainly that he felt genuine concern anddistress. He had never stood higher in Blanche's opinion than hestood at that moment.

"What is to be done?" he asked. "How does Sir Patrick propose tofind her?"

Blanche repeated Sir Patrick's instructions relating to thecrossroads, and also to the serious necessity of pursuing theinvestigation in the strictest privacy. Arnold (relieved from allfear of being sent back to Craig Fernie) undertook to do everything that was asked of him, and promised to keep the secret fromevery body.

They went back to the house, and met with an icy welcome fromLady Lundie. Her ladyship repeated her remark on the subject ofturning Windygates into a Penitentiary for Blanche's benefit. Shereceived Arnold's petition to be excused from going to see thecastle with the barest civility. "Oh, take your walk by allmeans! You may meet your friend, Mr. Delamayn--who appears tohave such a passion for walking that he can't even wait tillluncheon is over. As for Sir Patrick--Oh! Sir Patrick hasborrowed the pony-carriage? and gone out driving by himself?--I'msure I never meant to offend my brother-in-law when I offered hima slice of my poor little cake. Don't let me offend any bodyelse. Dispose of your afternoon, Blanche, without the slightestreference to me. Nobody seems inclined to visit the ruins--themost interesting relic of feudal times in Perthshire, Mr.Brinkworth. It doesn't matter--oh, dear me, it doesn't matter! Ican't force my guests to feel an intelligent curiosity on thesubject of Scottish Antiquities. No! no! my dear Blanche!--itwon't be the first time, or the last, that I have driven outalone. I don't at all object to being alone. 'My mind to me akingdom is,' as the poet says." So Lady Lundie's outragedself-importance asserted its violated claims on human respect,until her distinguished medical guest came to the rescue andsmoothed his hostess's ruffled plumes. The surgeon (he privatelydetested ruins) begged to go. Blanche begged to go. Smith andJones (profoundly interested in feudal antiquities) said theywould sit behind, in the "rumble"--rather than miss thisunexpected treat. One, Two, and Three caught the infection, andvolunteered to be the escort on horseback. Lady Lundie'scelebrated "smile" (warranted to remain unaltered on her face forhours together) made its appearance once more. She issued herorders with the most charming amiability. "We'll take theguidebook," said her ladyship, with the eye to mean economy,which is only to be met with in very rich people, "and save ashilling to the man who shows the ruins." With that she went upstairs to array herself for the drive, and looked in the glass;and saw a perfectly virtuous, fascinating, and accomplishedwoman, facing her irresistibly in a new French bonnet!

At a private signal from Blanche, Arnold slipped out and repairedto his post, where the roads crossed the road that led to therailway.

There was a space of open heath on one side of him, and thestonewall and gates of a farmhouse inclosure on the other. Arnoldsat down on the soft heather--and lit a cigar--and tried to seehis way through the double mystery of Anne's appearance andAnne's flight.

He had interpreted his friend's absence exactly as his friend hadanticipated: he could only assume that Geoffrey had gone to keepa private appointment with Anne. Miss Silvester's appearance atWindygates alone, and Miss Silvester's anxiety to hear the namesof the gentlemen who were staying in the house, seemed, underthese circumstances, to point to the plain conclusion that thetwo had, in some way, unfortunately missed each other. But whatcould be the motive of her flight? Whether she knew of some otherplace in which she might meet Geoffrey? or whether she had goneback to the inn? or whether she had acted under some suddenimpulse of despair?--were questions which Arnold was necessarilyquite incompetent to solve. There was no choice but to wait untilan opportunity offered of reporting what had happened to Geoffreyhimself.

After the lapse of half an hour, the sound of some approachingvehicle--the first sound of the sort that he had heard--attractedArnold's attention. He started up, and saw the pony-chaiseapproaching him along the road from the station. Sir Patrick,this time, was compelled to drive himself--Duncan was not withhim. On discovering Arnold, he stopped the pony.

"So! so!" said the old gentleman. "You have heard all about it, Isee? You understand that this is to be a secret from every body,till further notice? Very good, Has any thing happened since youhave been here?"

"Nothing. Have you made any discoveries, Sir Patrick?"

"None. I got to the station before the train. No signs of MissSilvester any where. I have left Duncan on the watch--with ordersnot to stir till the last train has passed to-night."

"I don't think she will turn up at the station," said Arnold. "Ifancy she has gone back to Craig Fernie."

"Quite possible. I am now on my way to Craig Fernie, to makeinquiries about her. I don't know how long I may be detained, orwhat it may lead to. If you see Blanche before I do tell her Ihave instructed the station-master to let me know (if MissSilvester does take the railway) what place she books for. Thanksto that arrangement, we sha'n't have to wait for news till Duncancan telegraph that he has seen her to her journey's end. In themean time, you un derstand what you are wanted to do here?"

"Blanche has explained every thing to me."

"Stick to your post, and make good use of your eyes. You wereaccustomed to that, you know, when you were at sea. It's no greathardship to pass a few hours in this delicious summer air. I seeyou have contracted the vile modern habit of smoking--that willbe occupation enough to amuse you, no doubt! Keep the roads inview; and, if she does come your way, don't attempt to stopher--you can't do that. Speak to her (quite innocently, mind!),by way of getting time enough to notice the face of the man whois driving her, and the name (if there is one) on his cart. Dothat, and you will do enough. Pah! how that cigar poisons theair! What will have become of your stomach when you get to myage?"

"I sha'n't complain, Sir Patrick, if I can eat as good a dinneras you do."

"That reminds me! I met somebody I knew at the station. HesterDethridge has left her place, and gone to London by the train. Wemay feed at Windygates--we have done with dining now. It has beena final quarrel this time between the mistress and the cook. Ihave given Hester my address in London, and told her to let meknow before she decides on another place. A woman who _can't_talk, and a woman who _can_ cook, is simply a woman who hasarrived at absolute perfection. Such a treasure shall not go outof the family, if I can help it. Did you notice the Béchamelsauce at lunch? Pooh! a young man who smokes cigars doesn't knowthe difference between Béchamel sauce and melted butter.Good afternoon! good afternoon!"

He slackened the reins, and away he went to Craig Fernie.Counting by years, the pony was twenty, and the pony's driver wasseventy. Counting by vivacity and spirit, two of the mostyouthful characters in Scotland had got together that afternoonin the same chaise.

An hour more wore itself slowly out; and nothing had passedArnold on the cross-roads but a few stray foot-passengers, aheavy wagon, and a gig with an old woman in it. He rose againfrom the heather, weary of inaction, and resolved to walkbackward and forward, within view of his post, for a change. Atthe second turn, when his face happened to be set toward the openheath, he noticed another foot-passenger--apparently a man--faraway in the empty distance. Was the person coming toward him?

He advanced a little. The stranger was doubtless advancing too,so rapidly did his figure now reveal itself, beyond all doubt, asthe figure of a man. A few minutes more and Arnold fancied herecognized it. Yet a little longer, and he was quite sure. Therewas no mistaking the lithe strength and grace of _that_ man, andthe smooth easy swiftness with which he covered his ground. Itwas the hero of the coming foot-race. It was Geoffrey on his wayback to Windygates House.

Arnold hurried forward to meet him. Geoffrey stood still, poisinghimself on his stick, and let the other come up.

"Have you heard what has happened at the house?" asked Arnold.

He instinctively checked the next question as it rose to hislips. There was a settled defiance in the expression ofGeoffrey's face, which Arnold was quite at a loss to understand.He looked like a man who had made up his mind to confront anything that could happen, and to contradict any body who spoke tohim.

"Something seems to have annoyed you?" said Arnold.

"What's up at the house?" returned Geoffrey, with his loudestvoice and his hardest look.

"Miss Silvester has been at the house."

"Who saw her?"

"Nobody but Blanche."

"Well?"

"Well, she was miserably weak and ill, so ill that she fainted,poor thing, in the library. Blanche brought her to."

"And what then?"

"We were all at lunch at the time. Blanche left the library, tospeak privately to her uncle. When she went back Miss Silvesterwas gone, and nothing has been seen of her since."

"A row at the house?"

"Nobody knows of it at the house, except Blanche--"

"And you? And how many besides?"

"And Sir Patrick. Nobody else."

"Nobody else? Any thing more?"

Arnold remembered his promise to keep the investigation then onfoot a secret from every body. Geoffrey's manner madehim--unconsciously to himself--readier than he might otherwisehave been to consider Geoffrey as included in the generalprohibition.

"Nothing more," he answered.

Geoffrey dug the point of his stick deep into the soft, sandyground. He looked at the stick, then suddenly pulled it out ofthe ground and looked at Arnold. "Good-afternoon!" he said, andwent on his way again by himself.

Arnold followed, and stopped him. For a moment the two men lookedat each other without a word passing on either side. Arnold spokefirst.

"You're out of humor, Geoffrey. What has upset you in this way?Have you and Miss Silvester missed each other?"

Geoffrey was silent.

"Have you seen her since she left Windygates?"

No reply.

"Do you know where Miss Silvester is now?"

Still no reply. Still the same mutely-insolent defiance of lookand manner. Arnold's dark color began to deepen.

"Why don't you answer me?" he said.

"Because I have had enough of it."

"Enough of what?"

"Enough of being worried about Miss Silvester. Miss Silvester'smy business--not yours."

"Gently, Geoffrey! Don't forget that I have been mixed up in thatbusiness--without seeking it myself."

"There's no fear of my forgetting. You have cast it in my teethoften enough."

"Cast it in your teeth?"

"Yes! Am I never to hear the last of my obligation to you? Thedevil take the obligation! I'm sick of the sound of it."

There was a spirit in Arnold--not easily brought to the surface,through the overlying simplicity and good-humor of his ordinarycharacter--which, once roused, was a spirit not readily quelled.Geoffrey had roused it at last.

"When you come to your senses," he said, "I'll remember oldtimes--and receive your apology. Till you _do_ come to yoursenses, go your way by yourself. I have no more to say to you."

Geoffrey set his teeth, and came one step nearer. Arnold's eyesmet his, with a look which steadily and firmly challengedhim--though he was the stronger man of the two--to force thequarrel a step further, if he dared. The one human virtue whichGeoffrey respected and understood was the virtue of courage. Andthere it was before him--the undeniable courage of the weakerman. The callous scoundrel was touched on the one tender place inhis whole being. He turned, and went on his way in silence.

Left by himself, Arnold's head dropped on his breast. The friendwho had saved his life--the one friend he possessed, who wasassociated with his earliest and happiest remembrances of olddays--had grossly insulted him: and had left him deliberately,without the slightest expression of regret. Arnold's affectionatenature--simple, loyal, clinging where it once fastened--waswounded to the quick. Geoffrey's fast-retreating figure, in theopen view before him, became blurred and indistinct. He put hishand over his eyes, and hid, with a boyish shame, the hot tearsthat told of the heartache, and that honored the man who shedthem.

He was still struggling with the emotion which had overpoweredhim, when something happened at the place where the roads met.

The four roads pointed as nearly as might be toward the fourpoints of the compass. Arnold was now on the road to theeastward, having advanced in that direction to meet Geoffrey,between two and three hundred yards from the farm-house inclosurebefore which he had kept his watch. The road to the westward,curving away behind the farm, led to the nearest market-town. Theroad to the south was the way to the station. And the road to thenorth led back to Windygates House.

While Geoffrey was still fifty yards from the turning which wouldtake him back to Windygates--while the tears were still standingthickly in Arnold's eyes--the gate of the farm inclosure opened.A light four-wheel chaise came out with a man driving, and awoman sitting by his side. The woman was Anne Silvester, and theman was the owner of the farm.

Instead of taking the way which led to the station, the chaisepursued the westward road to the market-town.Proceeding in this direction, the backs of the persons in thevehicle were necessarily turned on Geoffrey, advancing behindthem from the eastward. He just carelessly noticed the shabbylittle chaise, and then turned off north on his way toWindygates.

By the time Arnold was composed enough to look round him, thechaise had taken the curve in the road which wound behind thefarmhouse. He returned--faithful to the engagement which he hadundertaken--to his post before the inclosure. The chaise was thena speck in the distance. In a minute more it was a speck out ofsight.

So (to use Sir Patrick's phrase) had the woman broken throughdifficulties which would have stopped a man. So, in her soreneed, had Anne Silvester won the sympathy which had given her aplace, by the farmer's side, in the vehicle that took him on hisown business to the market-town. And so, by a hair's-breadth, didshe escape the treble risk of discovery which threatenedher--from Geoffrey, on his way back; from Arnold, at his post;and from the valet, on the watch for her appearance at thestation.

The afternoon wore on. The servants at Windygates, airingthemselves in the grounds--in the absence of their mistress andher guests--were disturbed, for the moment, by the unexpectedreturn of one of "the gentlefolks." Mr. Geoffrey Delamaynreappeared at the house alone; went straight to the smoking-room;and calling for another supply of the old ale, settled himself inan arm-chair with the newspaper, and began to smoke.

He soon tired of reading, and fell into thinking of what hadhappened during the latter part of his walk.

The prospect before him had more than realized the most sanguineanticipations that he could have formed of it. He had bracedhimself--after what had happened in the library--to face theoutbreak of a serious scandal, on his return to the house. Andhere--when he came back--was nothing to face! Here were threepeople (Sir Patrick, Arnold, and Blanche) who must at least knowthat Anne was in some serious trouble keeping the secret ascarefully as if they felt that his interests were at stake! And,more wonderful still, here was Anne herself--so far from raisinga hue and cry after him--actually taking flight without saying aword that could compromise him with any living soul!

What in the name of wonder did it mean? He did his best to findhis way to an explanation of some sort; and he actually contrivedto account for the silence of Blanche and her uncle, and Arnold.It was pretty clear that they must have all three combined tokeep Lady Lundie in ignorance of her runaway governess's returnto the house.

But the secret of Anne's silence completely baffled him.

He was simply incapable of conceiving that the horror of seeingherself set up as an obstacle to Blanche's marriage might havebeen vivid enough to overpower all sense of her own wrongs, andto hurry her away, resolute, in her ignorance of what else to do,never to return again, and never to let living eyes rest on herin the character of Arnold's wife. "It's clean beyond _my_ makingout," was the final conclusion at which Geoffrey arrived. "Ifit's her interest to hold her tongue, it's my interest to holdmine, and there's an end of it for the present!"

He put up his feet on a chair, and rested his magnificent musclesafter his walk, and filled another pipe, in thorough contentmentwith himself. No interference to dread from Anne, no more awkwardquestions (on the terms they were on now) to come from Arnold. Helooked back at the quarrel on the heath with a certaincomplacency--he did his friend justice; though they _had_disagreed. "Who would have thought the fellow had so much pluckin him!" he said to himself as he struck the match and lit hissecond pipe.

An hour more wore on; and Sir Patrick was the next person whoreturned.

He was thoughtful, but in no sense depressed. Judging byappearances, his errand to Craig Fernie had certainly not endedin disappointment. The old gentleman hummed his favorite littleScotch air--rather absently, perhaps--and took his pinch of snufffrom the knob of his ivory cane much as usual. He went to thelibrary bell and summoned a servant.

"Any body been here for me?"--"No, Sir Patrick."--"Noletters?"--"No, Sir Patrick."--"Very well. Come up stairs to myroom, and help me on with my dressing-gown." The man helped himto his dressing-gown and slippers "Is Miss Lundie at home?"--"No,Sir Patrick. They're all away with my lady on anexcursion."--"Very good. Get me a cup of coffee; and wake me halfan hour before dinner, in case I take a nap." The servant wentout. Sir Patrick stretched himself on the sofa. "Ay! ay! a littleaching in the back, and a certain stiffness in the legs. I daresay the pony feels just as I do. Age, I suppose, in both cases?Well! well! well! let's try and be young at heart. 'The rest' (asPope says) 'is leather and prunella.' " He returned resignedly tohis little Scotch air. The servant came in with the coffee. Andthen the room was quiet, except for the low humming of insectsand the gentle rustling of the creepers at the window. For fiveminutes or so Sir Patrick sipped his coffee, and meditated--by nomeans in the character of a man who was depressed by any recentdisappointment. In five minutes more he was asleep.

A little later, and the party returned from the ruins.

With the one exception of their lady-leader, the whole expeditionwas depressed--Smith and Jones, in particular, being quitespeechless. Lady Lundie alone still met feudal antiquities with acheerful front. She had cheated the man who showed the ruins ofhis shilling, and she was thoroughly well satisfied with herself.Her voice was flute-like in its melody, and the celebrated"smile" had never been in better order. "Deeply interesting!"said her ladyship, descending from the carriage with ponderousgrace, and addressing herself to Geoffrey, lounging under theportico of the house. "You have had a loss, Mr. Delamayn. Thenext time you go out for a walk, give your hostess a word ofwarning, and you won't repent it." Blanche (looking very wearyand anxious) questioned the servant, the moment she got in, aboutArnold and her uncle. Sir Patrick was invisible up stairs. Mr.Brinkworth had not come back. It wanted only twenty minutes ofdinner-time; and full evening-dress was insisted on atWindygates. Blanche, nevertheless, still lingered in the hall inthe hope of seeing Arnold before she went up stairs. The hope wasrealized. As the clock struck the quarter he came in. And he,too, was out of spirits like the rest!

"Have you seen her?" asked Blanche.

"No," said Arnold, in the most perfect good faith. "The way shehas escaped by is not the way by the cross-roads--I answer forthat."

They separated to dress. When the party assembled again, in thelibrary, before dinner, Blanche found her way, the moment heentered the room, to Sir Patrick's side.

"News, uncle! I'm dying for news."

"Good news, my dear--so far."

"You have found Anne?"

"Not exactly that."

"You have heard of her at Craig Fernie?"

"I have made some important discoveries at Craig Fernie, Blanche.Hush! here's your step-mother. Wait till after dinner, and youmay hear more than I can tell you now. There may be news from thestation between this and then."

The dinner was a wearisome ordeal to at least two other personspresent besides Blanche. Arnold, sitting opposite to Geoffrey,without exchanging a word with him, felt the altered relationsbetween his former friend and himself very painfully. SirPatrick, missing the skilled hand of Hester Dethridge in everydish that was offered to him, marked the dinner among the wastedopportunities of his life, and resented his sister-in-law's flowof spirits as something simply inhuman under presentcircumstances. Blanche followed Lady Lundie into the drawing-roomin a state of burning impatience for the rising of the gentlemenfrom their wine. Her step-mother--mapping out a new antiquarianexcursion for the next day, and finding Blanche's ears closed toher occasional remarks on baronial Scotland five hundred yearssince--lamented, with satiricalemphasis, the absence of an intelligent companion of her ownsex; and stretched her majestic figure on the sofa to wait untilan audience worthy of her flowed in from the dining-room. Beforevery long--so soothing is the influence of an after-dinner viewof feudal antiquities, taken through the medium of an approvingconscience--Lady Lundie's eyes closed; and from Lady Lundie'snose there poured, at intervals, a sound, deep like herladyship's learning; regular, like her ladyship's habits--a soundassociated with nightcaps and bedrooms, evoked alike by Nature,the leveler, from high and low--the sound (oh, Truth whatenormities find publicity in thy name!)--the sound of a Snore.

Free to do as she pleased, Blanche left the echoes of thedrawing-room in undisturbed enjoyment of Lady Lundie's audiblerepose.

She went into the library, and turned over the novels. Went outagain, and looked across the hall at the dining-room door. Wouldthe men never have done talking their politics and drinking theirwine? She went up to her own room, and changed her ear-rings, andscolded her maid. Descended once more--and made an alarmingdiscovery in a dark corner of the hall.

Two men were standing there, hat in hand whispering to thebutler. The butler, leaving them, went into the dining-room--cameout again with Sir Patrick--and said to the two men, "Step thisway, please." The two men came out into the light. Murdoch, thestation-master; and Duncan, the valet! News of Anne!

"Oh, uncle, let me stay!" pleaded Blanche.

Sir Patrick hesitated. It was impossible to say--as matters stoodat that moment--what distressing intelligence the two men mightnot have brought of the missing woman. Duncan's return,accompanied by the station-master, looked serious. Blancheinstantly penetrated the secret of her uncle's hesitation. Sheturned pale, and caught him by the arm. "Don't send me away," shewhispered. "I can bear any thing but suspense."

"Out with it!" said Sir Patrick, holding his niece's hand. "Isshe found or not?"

"She's gone by the up-train," said the station-master. "And weknow where."

Sir Patrick breathed freely; Blanche's color came back. Indifferent ways, the relief to both of them was equally great.

"You had my orders to follow her," said Sir Patrick to Duncan."Why have you come back?"

"Your man is not to blame, Sir," interposed the station-master."The lady took the train at Kirkandrew."

Sir Patrick started and looked at the station-master. "Ay? ay?The next station--the market-town. Inexcusably stupid of me. Inever thought of that."

"I took the liberty of telegraphing your description of the ladyto Kirkandrew, Sir Patrick, in case of accidents."

"I stand corrected, Mr. Murdoch. Your head, in this matter, hasbeen the sharper head of the two. Well?"

"There's the answer, Sir."

Sir Patrick and Blanche read the telegram together.

"Kirkandrew. Up train. 7.40 P.M. Lady as described. No luggage.Bag in her hand. Traveling alone. Ticket--second-class.Place--Edinburgh."

"Edinburgh!" repeated Blanche. "Oh, uncle! we shall lose her in agreat place like that!"

"We shall find her, my dear; and you shall see how. Duncan, getme pen, ink, and paper. Mr. Murdoch, you are going back to thestation, I suppose?"

"Yes, Sir Patrick."

"I will give you a telegram, to be sent at once to Edinburgh."

He wrote a carefully-worded telegraphic message, and addressed itto The Sheriff of Mid-Lothian.

"The Sheriff is an old friend of mine," he explained to hisniece. "And he is now in Edinburgh. Long before the train gets tothe terminus he will receive this personal description of MissSilvester, with my request to have all her movements carefullywatched till further notice. The police are entirely at hisdisposal; and the best men will be selected for the purpose. Ihave asked for an answer by telegraph. Keep a special messengerready for it at the station, Mr. Murdoch. Thank you;good-evening. Duncan, get your supper, and make yourselfcomfortable. Blanche, my dear, go back to the drawing-room, andexpect us in to tea immediately. You will know where your friendis before you go to bed to-night."

With those comforting words he returned to the gentlemen. In tenminutes more they all appeared in the drawing-room; and LadyLundie (firmly persuaded that she had never closed her eyes) wasback again in baronial Scotland five hundred years since.

Blanche, watching her opportunity, caught her uncle alone.

"Now for your promise," she said. "You have made some importantdiscoveries at Craig Fernie. What are they?"

Sir Patrick's eye turned toward Geoffrey, dozing in an arm-chairin a corner of the room. He showed a certain disposition totrifle with the curiosity of his niece.

"After the discovery we have already made," he said, "can't youwait, my dear, till we get the telegram from Edinburgh?"

"That is just what it's impossible for me to do! The telegramwon't come for hours yet. I want something to go on with in themean time."

She seated herself on a sofa in the corner opposite Geoffrey, andpointed to the vacant place by her side.

Sir Patrick had promised--Sir Patrick had no choice but to keephis word. After another look at Geoffrey, he took the vacantplace by his niece.