BLANCHE found her lover as attentive as usual to her slightestwish, but not in his customary good spirits. He pleaded fatigue,after his long watch at the cross-roads, as an excuse for hisdepression. As long as there was any hope of a reconciliationwith Geoffrey, he was unwilling to tell Blanche what had happenedthat afternoon. The hope grew fainter and fainter as the eveningadvanced. Arnold purposely suggested a visit to thebilliard-room, and joined the game, with Blanche, to giveGeoffrey an opportunity of saying the few gracious words whichwould have made them friends again. Geoffrey never spoke thewords; he obstinately ignored Arnold's presence in the room.

At the card-table the whist went on interminably. Lady Lundie,Sir Patrick, and the surgeon, were all inveterate players, evenlymatched. Smith and Jones (joining the game alternately) were aidsto whist, exactly as they were aids to conversation. The samesafe and modest mediocrity of style distinguished the proceedingsof these two gentlemen in all the affairs of life.

The time wore on to midnight. They went to bed late and they roselate at Windygates House. Under that hospitable roof, nointrusive hints, in the shape of flat candlesticks exhibitingthemselves with ostentatious virtue on side-tables, hurried theguest to his room; no vile bell rang him ruthlessly out of bedthe next morning, and insisted on his breakfasting at a givenhour. Life has surely hardships enough that are inevitablewithout gratuitously adding the hardship of absolute government,administered by a clock?

It was a quarter past twelve when Lady Lundie rose blandly fromthe whist-table, and said that she supposed somebody must set theexample of going to bed. Sir Patrick and Smith, the surgeon andJones, agreed on a last rubber. Blanche vanished while herstepmother's eye was on her; and appeared again in thedrawing-room, when Lady Lundie was safe in the hands of her maid.Nobody followed the example of the mistress of the house butArnold. He left the billiard-room with the certainty that it wasall over now between Geoffrey and himself. Not even theattraction of Blanche proved strong enough to detain him thatnight. He went his way to bed.

It was past one o'clock. The final rubber was at an end, theaccounts were settled at the card-table; the surgeon had strolledinto the billiard-room, and Smith and Jones had followed him,when Duncan came in, at last, with the telegram in his hand.

Blanche turned from the broad, calm autumn moonlight which haddrawn her to the window, and looked over her uncle's shoulderwhile he opened the telegram.

She read the first line--and that was enough. The wholescaffolding of hope built round that morsel of paper fell to theground in an instant. The train from Kirkandrew had reachedEdinburgh at the usual time. Every passenger in it had passedunder the eyes of the police, and nothing had been seen of anyperson who answered the description given of Anne!

Sir Patrick pointed to the two last sentences in the telegram:"Inquiries telegraphed to Falkirk. If with any result, you shallknow."

"We must hope for the best, Blanche. They evidently suspect herof having got out at the junction of the two railways for thepurpose of giving the telegraph the slip. There is no help forit. Go to bed, child--go to bed."

Blanche kissed her uncle in silence and went away. The brightyoung face was sad with the first hopeless sorrow which the oldman had yet seen in it. His niece's parting look dwelt painfullyon his mind when he was up in his room, with the faithful Duncangetting him ready for his bed.

"This is a bad business, Duncan. I don't like to say so to MissLundie; but I greatly fear the governess has baffled us."

"It seems likely, Sir Patrick. The poor young lady looks quiteheart-broken about it."

"You noticed that too, did you? She has lived all her life, yousee, with Miss Silvester; and there is a very strong attachmentbetween them. I am uneasy about my niece, Duncan. I am afraidthis disappointment will have a serious effect on her."

"She's young, Sir Patrick."

"Yes, my friend, she's young; but the young (when they are goodfor any thing) have warm hearts. Winter hasn't stolen on _them,_Duncan! And they feel keenly."

"I think there's reason to hope, Sir, that Miss Lundie may getover it more easily than you suppose."

"What reason, pray?"

"A person in my position can hardly venture to speak freely, Sir,on a delicate matter of this kind."

Sir Patrick's temper flashed out, half-seriously,half-whimsically, as usual.

"Is that a snap at Me, you old dog? If I am not your friend, aswell as your master, who is? Am _I_ in the habit of keeping anyof my harmless fellow-creatures at a distance? I despise the cantof modern Liberalism; but it's not the less true that I have, allmy life, protested against the inhuman separation of classes inEngland. We are, in that respect, brag as we may of our nationalvirtue, the most unchristian people in the civilized world."

"I beg your pardon, Sir Patrick--"

"God help me! I'm talking polities at this time of night! It'syour fault, Duncan. What do you mean by casting my station in myteeth, because I can't put my night-cap on comfortably till youhave brushed my hair? I have a good mind to get up and brushyours. There! there! I'm uneasy about my niece--nervousirritability, my good fellow, that's all. Let's hear what youhave to say about Miss Lundie. And go on with my hair. And don'tbe a humbug."

"I was about to remind you, Sir Patrick, that Miss Lundie hasanother interest in her life to turn to. If this matter of MissSilvester ends badly--and I own it begins to look as if itwould--I should hurry my niece's marriage, Sir, and see if _that_wouldn't console her."

Sir Patrick started under the gentle discipline of the hair-brushin Duncan's hand.

"That's very sensibly put," said the old gentleman. "Duncan! youare, what I call, a clear-minded man. Well worth thinking of, oldTruepenny! If the worst comes to the worst, well worth thinkingof!"

It was not the first time that Duncan's steady good sense hadstruck light, under the form of a new thought, in his master'smind. But never yet had he wrought such mischief as the mischiefwhich he had innocently done now. He had sent Sir Patrick to bedwith the fatal idea of hastening the marriage of Arnold andBlanche.

The situation of affairs at Windygates--now that Anne hadapparently obliterated all trace of herself--was becomingserious. The one chance on which the discovery of Arnold'sposition depended, was the chance that accident might reveal thetruth in the lapse of time. In this posture of circumstances, SirPatrick now resolved--if nothing happened to relieve Blanche'sanxiety in the course of the week--to advance the celebration ofthe marriage from the end of the autumn (as originallycontemplated) to the first fortnight of the ensuing month. Asdates then stood, the change led (so far as free scope for thedevelopment of accident was concerned) to this serious result. Itabridged a lapse of three months into an interval of three weeks.

The next morning came; and Blanche marked it as a memorablemorning, by committing an act of imprudence, which struck awayone more of the chances of discovery that had existed, before thearrival of the Edinburgh telegram on the previous day.

She had passed a sleepless night; fevered in mind and body;thinking, hour after hour, of nothing but Anne. At sunrise shecould endure it no longer. Her power to control herself wascompletely exhausted; her own impulses led her as they pleased.She got up, determined not to let Geoffrey leave the housewithout risking an effort to make him reveal what he knew aboutAnne. It was nothing less than downright treason to Sir Patrickto act on her own responsibility in this way. She knew it waswrong; she was heartily ashamed of herself for doing it. But thedemon that possesses women with a recklessness all their own, atthe critical moments of their lives, had got her--and she did it.

Geoffrey had arranged overnight, to breakfast early, by himself,and to walk the ten miles to his brother's house; sending aservant to fetch his luggage later in the day.

He had got on his hat; he was standing in the hall, searching hispocket for his second self, the pipe--when Blanche suddenlyappeared from the morning-room, and placed herself between himand the house door.

"Up early--eh?" said Geoffrey. "I'm off to my brother's."

She made no reply. He looked at her closer. The girl's eyes weretrying to read his face, with an utter carelessness ofconcealment, which forbade (even to his mind) all unworthyinterpretation of her motive for stopping him on his way out

"Any commands for me?" he inquired

This time she answered him. "I have something to ask you," shesaid.

He smiled graciously, and opened his tobacco-pouch. He was freshand strong after his night's sleep--healthy and handsome andgood-humored. The house-maids had had a peep at him that morning,and had wished--like Desdemona, with a difference--that "Heavenhad made all three of them such a man."

"Well," he said, "what is it?"

She put her question, without a single word of preface--purposelyto surprise him.

"Mr. Delamayn," she said, "do you know where Anne Silvester isthis morning?"

He was filling his pipe as she spoke, and he dropped some of thetobacco on the floor. Instead of answering before he picked upthe tobacco he answered after--in surly self-possession, and inone word--"No."

"Do you know nothing about her?"

He devoted himself doggedly to the filling of his pipe."Nothing."

"On your word of honor, as a gentleman?"

"On my word of honor, as a gentleman."

He put back his tobacco-pouch in his pocket. His handsome facewas as hard as stone. His clear blue eyes defied all the girls inEngland put together to see into _his_ mind. "Have you done, MissLundie?" he asked, suddenly changing to a bantering politeness oftone and manner.

Blanche saw that it was hopeless--saw that she had compromisedher own interests by her own headlong act. Sir Patrick's warningwords came back reproachfully to her now when it was too late."We commit a serious mistake if we put him on his guard atstarting."

There was but one course to take now. "Yes," she said. "I havedone."

"My turn now," rejoined Geoffrey. "You want to know where MissSilvester is. Why do you ask Me?"

Blanche did all that could be done toward repairing the errorthat she had committed. She kept Geoffrey as far away as Geoffreyhad kept _her_ from the truth.

"I happen to know," she replied "that Miss Silvester left theplace at which she had been staying about the time when you wentout walking yesterday. And I thought you might have seen her."

"Oh? That's the reason--is it?" said Geoffrey, with a smile.

The smile stung Blanche's sensitive temper to the quick. She madea final effort to control herself, before her indignation got thebetter of her.

"I have no more to say, Mr. Delamayn." With that reply she turnedher back on him, and closed the door of the morning-room betweenthem.

Geoffrey descended the house steps and lit his pipe. He was notat the slightest loss, on this occasion, to account for what hadhappened. He assumed at once that Arnold had taken a mean revengeon him after his conduct of the day before, and had told thewhole secret of his errand at Craig Fernie to Blanche. The thingwould get next, no doubt, to Sir Patrick's ears; and Sir Patrickwould thereupon be probably the first person who revealed toArnold the position in which he had placed himself with Anne. Allright! Sir Patrick would be an excellent witness to appeal to,when the scandal broke out, and when the time came forrepudiating Anne's claim on him as the barefaced imposture of awoman who was married already to another man. He puffed awayunconcernedly at his pipe, and started, at his swinging, steadypace, for his brother's house.

Blanche remained alone in the morning-room. The prospect ofgetting at the truth, by means of what Geoffrey might say on thenext occasion when he co nsulted Sir Patrick, was a prospect thatshe herself had closed from that moment. She sat down in despairby the window. It commanded a view of the little side-terracewhich had been Anne's favorite walk at Windygates. With wearyeyes and aching heart the poor child looked at the familiarplace; and asked herself, with the bitter repentance that comestoo late, if she had destroyed the last chance of finding Anne!

She sat passively at the window, while the hours of the morningwore on, until the postman came. Before the servant could takethe letter bag she was in the hall to receive it. Was it possibleto hope that the bag had brought tidings of Anne? She sorted theletters; and lighted suddenly on a letter to herself. It bore theKirkandrew postmark, and It was addressed to her in Anne'shandwriting.

She tore the letter open, and read these lines:

"I have left you forever, Blanche. God bless and reward you! Godmake you a happy woman in all your life to come! Cruel as youwill think me, love, I have never been so truly your sister as Iam now. I can only tell you this--I can never tell you more.Forgive me, and forget me, our lives are parted lives from thisday."

Going down to breakfast about his usual hour, Sir Patrick missedBlanche, whom he was accustomed to see waiting for him at thetable at that time. The room was empty; the other members of thehousehold having all finished their morning meal. Sir Patrickdisliked breakfasting alone. He sent Duncan with a message, to begiven to Blanche's maid.

The maid appeared in due time Miss Lundie was unable to leave herroom. She sent a letter to her uncle, with her love--and beggedhe would read it.

Sir Patrick opened the letter and saw what Anne had written toBlanche.

He waited a little, reflecting, with evident pain and anxiety, onwhat he had read--then opened his own letters, and hurriedlylooked at the signatures. There was nothing for him from hisfriend, the sheriff, at Edinburgh, and no communication from therailway, in the shape of a telegram. He had decided, overnight,on waiting till the end of the week before he interfered in thematter of Blanche's marriage. The events of the morningdetermined him on not waiting another day. Duncan returned to thebreakfast-room to pour out his master's coffee. Sir Patrick senthim away again with a second message

"Do you know where Lady Lundie is, Duncan?"

"Yes, Sir Patrick."

"My compliments to her ladyship. If she is not otherwise engaged,I shall be glad to speak to her privately in an hour's time."