AND what did the visitors say of the Swans?

They said, "Oh, what a number of them!"--which was all that wasto be said by persons ignorant of the natural history of aquaticbirds.

And what did the visitors say of the lake?

Some of them said, "How solemn!" Some of them said, "Howromantic!" Some of them said nothing--but privately thought it adismal scene.

Here again the popular sentiment struck the right note atstarting. The lake was hidden in the centre of a fir wood. Exceptin the middle, where the sunlight reached them, the waters layblack under the sombre shadow of the trees. The one break in theplantation was at the farther end of the lake. The one sign ofmovement and life to be seen was the ghostly gliding of the swanson the dead-still surface of the water. It was solemn--as theysaid; it was romantic--as they said. It was dismal--as theythought. Pages of description could express no more. Let pages ofdescription be absent, therefore, in this place.

Having satiated itself with the swans, having exhausted the lake,the general curiosity reverted to the break in the trees at thefarther end--remarked a startlingly artificial object, intrudingitself on the scene, in the shape of a large red curtain, whichhung between two of the tallest firs, and closed the prospectbeyond from view--requested an explanation of the curtain fromJulius Delamayn--and received for answer that the mystery shouldbe revealed on the arrival of his wife with the tardy remainderof the guests who had loitered about the house.

On the appearance of Mrs. Delamayn and the stragglers, the unitedparty coasted the shore of the lake, and stood assembled in frontof the curtain. Pointing to the silken cords hanging at eitherside of it, Julius Delamayn picked out two little girls (childrenof his wife's sister), and sent them to the cords, withinstructions to pull, and see what happened. The nieces of Juliuspulled with the eager hands of children in the presence of amystery--the curtains parted in the middle, and a cry ofuniversal astonishment and delight saluted the scene revealed toview.

At the end of a broad avenue of firs a cool green glade spreadits grassy carpet in the midst of the surrounding plantation. Theground at the farther end of the glade rose; and here, on thelower slopes, a bright little spring of water bubbled out betweengray old granite rocks.

Along the right-hand edge of the turf ran a row of tables,arrayed in spotless white, and covered with refreshments waitingfor the guests. On the opposite side was a band of music, whichburst into harmony at the moment when the curtains were drawn.Looking back through the avenue, the eye caught a distant glimpseof the lake, where the sunlight played on the water, and theplumage of the gliding swans flashed softly in brilliant white.Such was the charming surprise which Julius Delamayn had arrangedfor his friends. It was only at moments like these--or when heand his wife were playing Sonatas in the modest little music-roomat Swanhaven--that Lord Holchester's eldest son was really happy.He secretly groaned over the duties which his position as alanded gentleman imposed upon him; and he suffered under some ofthe highest privileges of his rank and station as under socialmartyrdom in its cruelest form.

"We'll dine first," said Julius, "and dance afterward. There isthe programme!"

He led the way to the tables, with the two ladies nearest tohim--utterly careless whether they were or were not among theladies of the highest rank then present. To Lady Lundie'sastonishment he took the first seathe came to, without appearing to care what place he occupied athis own feast. The guests, following his example, sat where theypleased, reckless of precedents and dignities. Mrs. Delamayn,feeling a special interest in a young lady who was shortly to bea bride, took Blanche's arm. Lady Lundie attached herselfresolutely to her hostess on the other side. The three sattogether. Mrs. Delamayn did her best to encourage Blanche totalk, and Blanche did her best to meet the advances made to her.The experiment succeeded but poorly on either side. Mrs. Delamayngave it up in despair, and turned to Lady Lundie, with a strongsuspicion that some unpleasant subject of reflection was preyingprivately on the bride's mind. The conclusion was soundly drawn.Blanche's little outbreak of temper with her friend on theterrace, and Blanche's present deficiency of gayety and spirit,were attributable to the same cause. She hid it from her uncle,she hid it from Arnold--but she was as anxious as ever, and aswretched as ever, about Anne; and she was still on the watch (nomatter what Sir Patrick might say or do) to seize the firstopportunity of renewing the search for her lost friend.

Meanwhile the eating, the drinking, and the talking went merrilyon. The band played its liveliest melodies; the servants kept theglasses constantly filled: round all the tables gayety andfreedom reigned supreme. The one conversation in progress, inwhich the talkers were not in social harmony with each other, wasthe conversation at Blanche's side, between her step-mother andMrs. Delamayn.

Among Lady Lundie's other accomplishments the power of makingdisagreeable discoveries ranked high. At the dinner in the gladeshe had not failed to notice--what every body else had passedover--the absence at the festival of the hostess'sbrother-in-law; and more remarkable still, the disappearance of alady who was actually one of the guests staying in the house: inplainer words, the disappearance of Mrs. Glenarm.

"Am I mistaken?" said her ladyship, lifting her eye-glass, andlooking round the tables. "Surely there is a member of our partymissing? I don't see Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn."

"Geoffrey promised to be here. But he is not particularlyattentive, as you may have noticed, to keeping engagements ofthis sort. Every thing is sacrificed to his training. We only seehim at rare intervals now."

With that reply Mrs. Delamayn attempted to change the subject.Lady Lundie lifted her eye-glass, and looked round the tables forthe second time.

"Pardon me," persisted her ladyship--"but is it possible that Ihave discovered another absentee? I don't see Mrs. Glenarm. Yetsurely she must be here! Mrs. Glenarm is not training for afoot-race. Do you see her? _I_ don't."

"I missed her when we went out on the terrace, and I have notseen her since."

"Isn't it very odd, dear Mrs. Delamayn?"

"Our guests at Swanhaven, Lady Lundie, have perfect liberty to doas they please."

In those words Mrs. Delamayn (as she fondly imagined) dismissedthe subject. But Lady Lundie's robust curiosity provedunassailable by even the broadest hint. Carried away, in allprobability, by the infection of merriment about her, herladyship displayed unexpected reserves of vivacity. The minddeclines to realize it; but it is not the less true that thismajestic woman actually simpered!

"Shall we put two and two together?" said Lady Lundie, with aponderous playfulness wonderful to see. "Here, on the one hand,is Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn--a young single man. And here, on theother, is Mrs. Glenarm--a young widow. Rank on the side of theyoung single man; riches on the side of the young widow. And bothmysteriously absent at the same time, from the same pleasantparty. Ha, Mrs. Delamayn! should I guess wrong, if I guessed that_you_ will have a marriage in the family, too, before long?"

Mrs. Delamayn looked a little annoyed. She had entered, with allher heart, into the conspiracy for making a match betweenGeoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm. But she was not prepared to own thatthe lady's facility had (in spite of all attempts to conceal itfrom discovery) made the conspiracy obviously successful in tendays' time.

"I am not in the secrets of the lady and gentleman whom youmention," she replied, dryly.

A heavy body is slow to acquire movement--and slow to abandonmovement, when once acquired. The playfulness of Lady Lundie,being essentially heavy, followed the same rule. She stillpersisted in being as lively as ever.

"Oh, what a diplomatic answer!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I thinkI can interpret it, though, for all that. A little bird tells methat I shall see a Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn in London, next season.And I, for one, shall not be surprised to find myselfcongratulating Mrs. Glenarm."

"If you persist in letting your imagination run away with you,Lady Lundie, I can't possibly help it. I can only requestpermission to keep the bridle on _mine._"

This time, even Lady Lundie understood that it would be wise tosay no more. She smiled and nodded, in high private approval ofher own extraordinary cleverness. If she had been asked at thatmoment who was the most brilliant Englishwoman living, she wouldhave looked inward on herself--and would have seen, as in a glassbrightly, Lady Lundie, of Windygates.

From the moment when the talk at her side entered on the subjectof Geoffrey Delamayn and Mrs. Glenarm--and throughout the briefperiod during which it remained occupied with that topic--Blanchebecame conscious of a strong smell of some spirituous liquorwafted down on her, as she fancied, from behind and from above.Finding the odor grow stronger and stronger, she looked round tosee whether any special manufacture of grog was proceedinginexplicably at the back of her chair. The moment she moved herhead, her attention was claimed by a pair of tremulous gouty oldhands, offering her a grouse pie, profusely sprinkled withtruffles.

"Eh, my bonny Miss!" whispered a persuasive voice at her ear,"ye're joost stairving in a land o' plenty. Tak' my advice, andye'll tak' the best thing at tebble--groose-poy, and trufflers."

Blanche looked up.

There he was--the man of the canny eye, the fatherly manner, andthe mighty nose--Bishopriggs--preserved in spirits andministering at the festival at Swanhaven Lodge!

Blanche had only seen him for a moment on the memorable night ofthe storm, when she had surprised Anne at the inn. But instantspassed in the society of Bishopriggs were as good as hours spentin the company of inferior men. Blanche instantly recognized him;instantly called to mind Sir Patrick's conviction that he was inpossession of Anne's lost letter; instantly rushed to theconclusion that, in discovering Bishopriggs, she had discovered achance of tracing Anne. Her first impulse was to claimacquaintance with him on the spot. But the eyes of her neighborswere on her, warning her to wait. She took a little of the pie,and looked hard at Bishopriggs. That discreet man, showing nosign of recognition on his side, bowed respectfully, and went onround the table.

"I wonder whether he has got the letter about him?" thoughtBlanche.

He had not only got the letter about him--but, more than that, hewas actually then on the look-out for the means of turning theletter to profitable pecuniary account.

The domestic establishment of Swanhaven Lodge included noformidable array of servants. When Mrs. Delamayn gave a largeparty, she depended for such additional assistance as was neededpartly on the contributions of her friends, partly on theresources of the principal inn at Kirkandrew. Mr. Bishopriggs,serving at the time (in the absence of any better employment) asa supernumerary at the inn, made one among the waiters who couldbe spared to assist at the garden-party. The name of thegentleman by whom he was to be employed for the day had struckhim, when he first heard it, as having a familiar sound. He hadmade his inquiries; and had then betaken himself for additionalinformation, to the letter which he had picked up from the parlorfloor at Craig Fernie

The sheet of note-paper, lost by Anne, conta ined, it may beremembered, two letters--one signed by herself; the other signedby Geoffrey--and both suggestive, to a stranger's eye, ofrelations between the writers which they were interested inconcealing from the public view.

Thinking it just possible--if he kept his eyes and ears well openat Swanhaven--that he might improve his prospect of making amarketable commodity of the stolen correspondence, Mr.Bishopriggs had put the letter in his pocket when he leftKirkandrew. He had recognized Blanche, as a friend of the lady atthe inn--and as a person who might perhaps be turned to account,in that capacity. And he had, moreover, heard every word of theconversation between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn on the subjectof Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm. There were hours to be passedbefore the guests would retire, and before the waiters would bedismissed. The conviction was strong in the mind of Mr.Bishopriggs that he might find good reason yet for congratulatinghimself on the chance which had associated him with thefestivities at Swanhaven Lodge.

It was still early in the afternoon when the gayety at thedinner-table began, in certain quarters, to show signs of wearingout.

The younger members of the party--especially the ladies--grewrestless with the appearance of the dessert. One after anotherthey looked longingly at the smooth level of elastic turf in themiddle of the glade. One after another they beat time absentlywith their fingers to the waltz which the musicians happened tobe playing at the moment. Noticing these symptoms, Mrs. Delamaynset the example of rising; and her husband sent a message to theband. In ten minutes more the first quadrille was in progress onthe grass; the spectators were picturesquely grouped round,looking on; and the servants and waiters, no longer wanted, hadretired out of sight, to a picnic of their own.

The last person to leave the deserted tables was the venerableBishopriggs. He alone, of the men in attendance, had contrived tocombine a sufficient appearance of waiting on the company with aclandestine attention to his own personal need of refreshment.Instead of hurrying away to the servants' dinner with the rest,he made the round of the tables, apparently clearing away thecrumbs--actually, emptying the wine-glasses. Immersed in thisoccupation, he was startled by a lady's voice behind him, and,turning as quickly as he could, found himself face to face withMiss Lundie.

"I want some cold water," said Blanche. "Be so good as to get mesome from the spring."

She pointed to the bubbling rivulet at the farther end of theglade.

Bishopriggs looked unaffectedly shocked.

"Lord's sake, miss," he exclaimed "d'ye relly mean to offend yerstomach wi' cauld water--when there's wine to be had for theasking!"

Blanche gave him a look. Slowness of perception was not on thelist of the failings of Bishopriggs. He took up a tumbler, winkedwith his one available eye, and led the way to the rivulet. Therewas nothing remarkable in the spectacle of a young lady whowanted a glass of spring-water, or of a waiter who was getting itfor her. Nobody was surprised; and (with the band playing) nobodycould by any chance overhear what might be said at thespring-side.

"Do you remember me at the inn on the night of the storm?" askedBlanche.

Mr. Bishopriggs had his reasons (carefully inclosed in hispocketbook) for not being too ready to commit himself withBlanche at starting.

"I'm no' saying I canna remember ye, miss. Whar's the man wouldmak' sic an answer as that to a bonny young leddy like you?"

By way of assisting his memory Blanche took out her purse.Bishopriggs became absorbed in the scenery. He looked at therunning water with the eye of a man who thoroughly distrusted it,viewed as a beverage.

"There ye go," he said, addressing himself to the rivulet,"bubblin' to yer ain annihilation in the loch yonder! It's littleI know that's gude aboot ye, in yer unconvairted state. Ye're atype o' human life, they say. I tak' up my testimony against_that._ Ye're a type o' naething at all till ye're heated wi'fire, and sweetened wi' sugar, and strengthened wi' whusky; andthen ye're a type o' toddy--and human life (I grant it) has gotsomething to say to ye in that capacity!"

"I have heard more about you, since I was at the inn," proceededBlanche, "than you may suppose." (She opened her purse: Mr.Bishopriggs became the picture of attention.) "You were very,very kind to a lady who was staying at Craig Fernie," she wenton, earnestly. "I know that you have lost your place at the inn,because you gave all your attention to that lady. She is mydearest friend, Mr. Bishopriggs. I want to thank you. I do thankyou. Please accept what I have got here?"

All the girl's heart was in her eyes and in her voice as sheemptied her purse into the gouty (and greedy) old hand ofBishopriggs.

A young lady with a well-filled purse (no matter how rich theyoung lady may be) is a combination not often witnessed in anycountry on the civilized earth. Either the money is always spent,or the money has been forgotten on the toilet-table at home.Blanche's purse contained a sovereign and some six or sevenshillings in silver. As pocket-money for an heiress it wascontemptible. But as a gratuity to Bishopriggs it wasmagnificent. The old rascal put the money into his pocket withone hand, and dashed away the tears of sensibility, which he had_not_ shed, with the other.

"Cast yer bread on the waters," cried Mr. Bishopriggs, with hisone eye raised devotionally to the sky, "and ye sall find itagain after monny days! Heeh! hech! didna I say when I first seteyes on that puir leddy, 'I feel like a fether to ye?' It'sseemply mairvelous to see hoo a man's ain gude deeds find him ootin this lower warld o' ours. If ever I heard the voice o'naitural affection speaking in my ain breast," pursued Mr.Bishopriggs, with his eye fixed in uneasy expectation on Blanche,"it joost spak' trumpet-tongued when that winsome creature firstlookit at me. Will it be she now that told ye of the wee bitsairvice I rendered to her in the time when I was in bondage atthe hottle?"

"Yes--she told me herself."

"Might I mak' sae bauld as to ask whar' she may be at the presenttime?"

"I don't know, Mr. Bishopriggs. I am more miserable about it thanI can say. She has gone away--and I don't know where."

"Ow! ow! that's bad. And the bit husband-creature danglin' at herpetticoat's tail one day, and awa' wi' the sunrise nextmornin'--have they baith taken leg-bail together?"

"I know nothing of him; I never saw him. You saw him. Tellme--what was he like?"

"Eh! he was joost a puir weak creature. Didn't know a glass o'good sherry-wine when he'd got it. Free wi' the siller--that's a'ye can say for him--free wi' the siller!"

Finding it impossible to extract from Mr. Bishopriggs any clearerdescription of the man who had been with Anne at the inn thanthis, Blanche approached the main object of the interview. Tooanxious to waste time in circumlocution, she turned theconversation at once to the delicate and doubtful subject of thelost letter.

"There is something else that I want to say to you," she resumed."My friend had a loss while she was staying at the inn."

The clouds of doubt rolled off the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs. Thelady's friend knew of the lost letter. And, better still, thelady's friend looked as if she wanted it!

"Ay! ay!" he said, with all due appearance of carelessness. "Likeeneugh. From the mistress downward, they're a' kittle cattle atthe inn since I've left 'em. What may it ha' been that she lost?"

"She lost a letter."

The look of uneasy expectation reappeared in the eye of Mr.Bishopriggs. It was a question--and a serious question, from hispoint of view--whether any suspicion of theft was attached to thedisappearance of the letter.

"When ye say 'lost,' " he asked, "d'ye mean stolen?"

Blanche was quite quick enough to see the necessity of quietinghis mind on this point.

"Oh no!" she answered. "Not stolen. Only lost. Did you hear aboutit?"

"Wherefore suld _I_ ha' heard aboot it?" He looked hard atBlanche --and detected a momentary hesitation in her face. "Tellme this, my young leddy," he went on, advancing warily near tothe point. "When ye're speering for news o' your friend's lostletter--what sets ye on comin' to _me?_"

Those words were decisive. It is hardly too much to say thatBlanche's future depended on Blanche's answer to that question.

If she could have produced the money; and if she had said,boldly, "You have got the letter, Mr. Bishopriggs: I pledge myword that no questions shall be asked, and I offer you ten poundsfor it"--in all probability the bargain would have been struck;and the whole course of coming events would, in that case, havebeen altered. But she had no money left; and there were nofriends, in the circle at Swanhaven, to whom she could apply,without being misinterpreted, for a loan of ten pounds, to beprivately intrusted to her on the spot. Under stress of sheernecessity Blanche abandoned all hope of making any present appealof a pecuniary nature to the confidence of Bishopriggs.

The one other way of attaining her object that she could see wasto arm herself with the influence of Sir Patrick's name. A man,placed in her position, would have thought it mere madness toventure on such a risk as this. But Blanche--with one act ofrashness already on her conscience--rushed, woman-like, straightto the commission of another. The same headlong eagerness toreach her end, which had hurried her into questioning Geoffreybefore he left Windygates, now drove her, just as recklessly,into taking the management of Bishopriggs out of Sir Patrick'sskilled and practiced hands. The starving sisterly love in herhungered for a trace of Anne. Her heart whispered, Risk it! AndBlanche risked it on the spot.

"Sir Patrick set me on coming to you," she said.

The opening hand of Mr. Bishopriggs--ready to deliver the letter,and receive the reward--closed again instantly as she spoke thosewords.

"Sir Paitrick?" he repeated "Ow! ow! ye've een tauld Sir Paitrickaboot it, have ye? There's a chiel wi' a lang head on hisshouthers, if ever there was ane yet! What might Sir Paitrick ha'said?"

Blanche noticed a change in his tone. Blanche was rigidly careful(when it was too late) to answer him in guarded terms.

"Sir Patrick thought you might have found the letter," she said,"and might not have remembered about it again until after you hadleft the inn."

Bishopriggs looked back into his own personal experience of hisold master--and drew the correct conclusion that Sir Patrick'sview of his connection with the disappearance of the letter wasnot the purely unsuspicious view reported by Blanche. "The dourauld deevil," he thought to himself, "knows me better than_that!_"

"Well?" asked Blanche, impatiently. "Is Sir Patrick right?"

"Richt?" rejoined Bishopriggs, briskly. "He's as far awa' fromthe truth as John o' Groat's House is from Jericho."

"You know nothing of the letter?"

"Deil a bit I know o' the letter. The first I ha' heard o' it iswhat I hear noo."

Blanche's heart sank within her. Had she defeated her own object,and cut the ground from under Sir Patrick's feet, for the secondtime? Surely not! There was unquestionably a chance, on thisoccasion, that the man might be prevailed upon to place the trustin her uncle which he was too cautious to confide to a strangerlike herself. The one wise thing to do now was to pave the wayfor the exertion of Sir Patrick's superior influence, and SirPatrick's superior skill. She resumed the conversation with thatobject in view.

"I am sorry to hear that Sir Patrick has guessed wrong," sheresumed. "My friend was anxious to recover the letter when I lastsaw her; and I hoped to hear news of it from you. However, rightor wrong, Sir Patrick has some reasons for wishing to seeyou--and I take the opportunity of telling you so. He has left aletter to wait for you at the Craig Fernie inn."

"I'm thinking the letter will ha' lang eneugh to wait, if itwaits till I gae back for it to the hottle," remarkedBishopriggs.

"In that case," said Blanche, promptly, "you had better give mean address at which Sir Patrick can write to you. You wouldn't, Isuppose, wish me to say that I had seen you here, and that yourefused to communicate with him?"

"Never think it! " cried Bishopriggs, fervently. "If there's ainthing mair than anither that I'm carefu' to presairve intact,it's joost the respectful attention that I owe to Sir Paitrick.I'll make sae bauld, miss, au to chairge ye wi' that bit caird.I'm no' settled in ony place yet (mair's the pity at my time o'life!), but Sir Paitrick may hear o' me, when Sir Paitrick hasneed o' me, there." He handed a dirty little card to Blanchecontaining the name and address of a butcher in Edinburgh."Sawmuel Bishopriggs," he went on, glibly. "Care o' Davie Dow,flesher; Cowgate; Embro. My Patmos in the weelderness, miss, forthe time being."

Blanche received the address with a sense of unspeakable relief.If she had once more ventured on taking Sir Patrick's place, andonce more failed in justifying her rashness by the results, shehad at least gained some atoning advantage, this time, by openinga means of communication between her uncle and Bishopriggs. "Youwill hear from Sir Patrick," she said, and nodded kindly, andreturned to her place among the guests.

"I'll hear from Sir Paitrick, wull I?" repeated Bishopriggs whenhe was left by himself. "Sir Paitrick will wark naething lessthan a meeracle if he finds Sawmuel Bishopriggs at the Cowgate,Embro!"

He laughed softly over his own cleverness; and withdrew to alonely place in the plantation, in which he could consult thestolen correspondence without fear of being observed by anyliving creature. Once more the truth had tried to struggle intolight, before the day of the marriage, and once more Blanche hadinnocently helped the darkness to keep it from view.