IT is the nature of Truth to struggle to the light. In more thanone direction, the truth strove to pierce the overlying darkness,and to reveal itself to view, during the interval between thedate of Sir Patrick's victory and the date of the wedding-day.

Signs of perturbation under the surface, suggestive of somehidden influence at work, were not wanting, as the time passedon. The one thing missing was the prophetic faculty that couldread those signs aright at Windygates House.

On the very day when Sir Patrick's dextrous treatment of hissister-in-law had smoothed the way to the hastening of themarriage, an obstacle was raised to the new arrangement by noless a person than Blanche herself. She had sufficientlyrecovered, toward noon, to be able to receive Arnold in her ownlittle sitting-room. It proved to be a very brief interview. Aquarter of an hour later, Arnold appeared before SirPatrick--while the old gentleman was sunning himself in thegarden--with a face of blank despair. Blanche had indignantlydeclined even to think of such a thing as her marriage, at a timewhen she was heart-broken by the discovery that Anne had left herforever.

"You gave me leave to mention it, Sir Patrick--didn't you?" saidArnold.

Sir Patrick shifted round a little, so as to get the sun on hisback, and admitted that he had given leave.

"If I had only known, I would rather have cut my tongue out thanhave said a word about it. What do you think she did? She burstout crying, and ordered me to leave the room."

It was a lovely morning--a cool breeze tempered the heat of thesun; the birds were singing; the garden wore its brightest look.Sir Patrick was supremely comfortable. The little wearisomevexations of this mortal life had retired to a respectfuldistance from him. He positively declined to invite them to comeany nearer.

"Here is a world," said the old gentleman, getting the sun alittle more broadly on his back, "which a merciful Creator hasfilled with lovely sights, harmonious sounds, delicious scents;and here are creatures with faculties expressly made forenjoyment of those sights, sounds, and scents--to say nothing ofLove, Dinner, and Sleep, all thrown into the bargain. And thesesame creatures hate, starve, toss sleepless on their pillows, seenothing pleasant, hear nothing pleasant, smell nothingpleasant--cry bitter tears, say hard words, contract painfulillnesses; wither, sink, age, die! What does it mean, Arnold? Andhow much longer is it all to go on?"

The fine connecting link between the blindness of Blanche to theadvantage of being married, and the blindness of humanity to theadvantage of being in existence, though sufficiently perceptibleno doubt to venerable Philosophy ripening in the sun, wasabsolutely invisible to Arnold. He deliberately dropped the vastquestion opened by Sir Patrick; and, reverting to Blanche, askedwhat was to be done.

"What do you do with a fire, when you can't extinguish it?" saidSir Patrick. "You let it blaze till it goes out. What do you dowith a woman when you can't pacify her? Let _her_ blaze till shegoes out."

Arnold failed to see the wisdom embodied in that excellentadvice. "I thought you would have helped me to put things rightwith Blanche," he said.

"I _am_ helping you. Let Blanche alone. Don't speak of themarriage again, the next time you see her. If she mentions it,beg her pardon, and tell her you won't press the question anymore. I shall see her in an hour or two, and I shall take exactlythe same tone myself. You have put the idea into her mind--leaveit there to ripen. Give her distress about Miss Silvester nothingto feed on. Don't stimulate it by contradiction; don't rouse itto defend itself by disparagement of her lost friend. Leave Timeto edge her gently nearer and nearer to the husband who iswaiting for her--and take my word for it, Time will have herready when the settlements are ready."

Toward the luncheon hour Sir Patrick saw Blanche, and put inpractice the principle which he had laid down. She was perfectlytranquil before her uncle left her. A little later, Arnold wasforgiven. A little later still, the old gentleman's sharpobservation noted that his niece was unusually thoughtful, andthat she looked at Arnold, from time to time, with an interest ofa new kind--an interest which shyly hid itself from Arnold'sview. Sir Patrick went up to dress for dinner, with a comfortableinner conviction that the difficulties which had beset him weresettled at last. Sir Patrick had never been more mistaken in hislife.

The business of the toilet was far advanced. Duncan had justplaced the glass in a good light; and Duncan's master was at thatturning point in his daily life which consisted in attaining, ornot attaining, absolute perfection in the tying of his whitecravat--when some outer barbarian, ignorant of the firstprinciples of dressing a gentleman's throat, presumed to knock atthe bedroom door. Neither master nor servant moved or breatheduntil the integrity of the cravat was placed beyond the reach ofaccident. Then Sir Patrick cast the look of final criticismin the glass, and breathed again when he saw that it was done.

"A little labored in style, Duncan. But not bad, considering theinterruption?"

"By no means, Sir Patrick."

"See who it is."

Duncan went to the door; and returned, to his master, with anexcuse for the interruption, in the shape of a telegram!

Sir Patrick started at the sight of that unwelcome message. "Signthe receipt, Duncan," he said--and opened the envelope. Yes!Exactly as he had anticipated! News of Miss Silvester, on thevery day when he had decided to abandon all further attempt atdiscovering her. The telegram ran thus:

"Message received from Falkirk this morning. Lady, as described,left the train at Falkirk last night. Went on, by the first trainthis morning, to Glasgow. Wait further instructions."

"Is the messenger to take any thing back, Sir Patrick?"

"No. I must consider what I am to do. If I find it necessary Iwill send to the station. Here is news of Miss Silvester,Duncan," continued Sir Patrick, when the messenger had gone. "Shehas been traced to Glasgow."

"Glasgow is a large place, Sir Patrick."

"Yes. Even if they have telegraphed on and had her watched (whichdoesn't appear), she may escape us again at Glasgow. I am thelast man in the world, I hope, to shrink from accepting my fairshare of any responsibility. But I own I would have givensomething to have kept this telegram out of the house. It raisesthe most awkward question I have had to decide on for many a longday past. Help me on with my coat. I must think of it! I mustthink of it!"

Sir Patrick went down to dinner in no agreeable frame of mind.The unexpected recovery of the lost trace of MissSilvester--there is no disguising it--seriously annoyed him.

The dinner-party that day, assembling punctually at the stroke ofthe bell, had to wait a quarter of an hour before the hostesscame down stairs.

Lady Lundie's apology, when she entered the library, informed herguests that she had been detained by some neighbors who hadcalled at an unusually late hour. Mr. and Mrs. Julius Delamayn,finding themselves near Windygates, had favored her with a visit,on their way home, and had left cards of invitation for agarden-party at their house.

Lady Lundie was charmed with her new acquaintances. They hadincluded every body who was staying at Windygates in theirinvitation. They had been as pleasant and easy as old friends.Mrs. Delamayn had brought the kindest message from one of herguests--Mrs. Glenarm--to say that she remembered meeting LadyLundie in London, in the time of the late Sir Thomas, and wasanxious to improve the acquaintance. Mr. Julius Delamayn hadgiven a most amusing account of his brother. Geoffrey had sent toLondon for a trainer; and the whole household was on the tip-toeof expectation to witness the magnificent spectacle of an athletepreparing himself for a foot-race. The ladies, with Mrs. Glenarmat their head, were hard at work, studying the profound andcomplicated question of human running--the muscles employed init, the preparation required for it, the heroes eminent in it.The men had been all occupied that morning in assisting Geoffreyto measure a mile, for his exercising-ground, in a remote part ofthe park--where there was an empty cottage, which was to befitted with all the necessary appliances for the reception ofGeoffrey and his trainer. "You will see the last of my brother,"Julius had said, "at the garden-party. After that he retires intoathletic privacy, and has but one interest in life--the interestof watching the disappearance of his own superfluous flesh."Throughout the dinner Lady Lundie was in oppressively goodspirits, singing the praises of her new friends. Sir Patrick, onthe other hand, had never been so silent within the memory ofmortal man. He talked with an effort; and he listened with agreater effort still. To answer or not to answer the telegram inhis pocket? To persist or not to persist in his resolution toleave Miss Silvester to go her own way? Those were the questionswhich insisted on coming round to him as regularly as the dishesthemselves came round in the orderly progression of the dinner.

Blanche---who had not felt equal to taking her place at thetable--appeared in the drawing-room afterward.

Sir Patrick came in to tea, with the gentlemen, still uncertainas to the right course to take in the matter of the telegram. Onelook at Blanche's sad face and Blanche's altered manner decidedhim. What would be the result if he roused new hopes by resumingthe effort to trace Miss Silvester, and if he lost the trace asecond time? He had only to look at his niece and to see. Couldany consideration justify him in turning her mind back on thememory of the friend who had left her at the moment when it wasjust beginning to look forward for relief to the prospect of hermarriage? Nothing could justify him; and nothing should inducehim to do it.

Reasoning--soundly enough, from his own point of view--on thatbasis, Sir Patrick determined on sending no further instructionsto his friend at Edinburgh. That night he warned Duncan topreserve the strictest silence as to the arrival of the telegram.He burned it, in case of accidents, with his own hand, in his ownroom.

Rising the next day and looking out of his window, Sir Patricksaw the two young people taking their morning walk at a momentwhen they happened to cross the open grassy space which separatedthe two shrubberies at Windygates. Arnold's arm was roundBlanche's waist, and they were talking confidentially with theirheads close together. "She is coming round already!" thought theold gentleman, as the two disappeared again in the secondshrubbery from view. "Thank Heaven! things are running smoothlyat last!"

Among the ornaments of Sir Patrick's bed room there was a view(taken from above) of one of the Highland waterfalls. If he hadlooked at the picture when he turned away from his window, hemight have remarked that a river which is running with its utmostsmoothness at one moment may be a river which plunges into itsmost violent agitation at another; and he might have remembered,with certain misgivings, that the progress of a stream of waterhas been long since likened, with the universal consent ofhumanity, to the progress of the stream of life.