AFTER a new and attentive reading of Anne's letter to Geoffrey,and of Geoffrey's letter to Anne, Bishopriggs laid downcomfortably under a tree, and set himself the task of seeing hisposition plainly as it was at that moment.

The profitable disposal of the correspondence to Blanche was nolonger among the possibilities involved in the case. As fortreating with Sir Patrick, Bishopriggs determined to keep equallydear of the Cowgate, Edinburgh, and of Mrs. Inchbare's inn, solong as there was the faintest chance of his pushing his owninterests in any other quarter. No person living would be capableof so certainly extracting the correspondence from him, on suchruinously cheap terms as his old master. "I'll no' put myselfunder Sir Paitrick's thumb," thought Bishopriggs, "till I've ganemy ain rounds among the lave o' them first."

Rendered into intelligible English, this resolution pledged himto hold no communication with Sir Patrick--until he had firsttested his success in negotiating with other persons, who mightbe equally interested in getting possession of thecorrespondence, and more liberal in giving hush-money to thethief who had stolen it.

Who were the "other persons" at his disposal, under thesecircumstances?

He had only to recall the conversation which he had overheardbetween Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn to arrive at the discoveryof one person, to begin with, who was directly interested ingetting possession of his own letter. Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn wasin a fair way of being married to a lady named Mrs. Glenarm. Andhere was this same Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn in matrimonialcorrespondence, little more than a fortnight since, with anotherlady--who signed herself "Anne Silvester."

Whatever his position between the two women might be, hisinterest in possessing himself of the correspondence was plainbeyond all doubt. It was equally clear that the first thing to bedone by Bishopriggs was to find the means of obtaining a personalinterview with him. If the interview led to nothing else, itwould decide one important question which still remained to besolved. The lady whom Bishopriggs had waited on at Craig Ferniemight well be "Anne Silv ester." Was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, inthat case. the gentleman who had passed as her husband at theinn?

Bishopriggs rose to his gouty feet with all possible alacrity,and hobbled away to make the necessary inquiries, addressinghimself, not to the men-servants at the dinner-table, who wouldbe sure to insist on his joining them, but to the women-servantsleft in charge of the empty house.

He easily obtained the necessary directions for finding thecottage. But he was warned that Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn's trainerallowed nobody to see his patron at exercise, and that he wouldcertainly be ordered off again the moment he appeared on thescene.

Bearing this caution in mind, Bishopriggs made a circuit, onreaching the open ground, so as to approach the cottage at theback, under shelter of the trees behind it. One look at Mr.Geoffrey Delamayn was all that he wanted in the first instance.They were welcome to order him off again, as long as he obtainedthat.

He was still hesitating at the outer line of the trees, when heheard a loud, imperative voice, calling from the front of thecottage, "Now, Mr. Geoffrey! Time's up!" Another voice answered,"All right!" and, after an interval, Geoffrey Delamayn appearedon the open ground, proceeding to the point from which he wasaccustomed to walk his measured mile.

Advancing a few steps to look at his man more closely,Bishopriggs was instantly detected by the quick eye of thetrainer. "Hullo!" cried Perry, "what do you want here?"Bishopriggs opened his lips to make an excuse. "Who the devil areyou?" roared Geoffrey. The trainer answered the question out ofthe resources of his own experience. "A spy, Sir--sent to timeyou at your work." Geoffrey lifted his mighty fist, and sprangforward a step. Perry held his patron back. "You can't do that,Sir," he said; "the man's too old. No fear of his turning upagain--you've scared him out of his wits." The statement wasstrictly true. The terror of Bishopriggs at the sight ofGeoffrey's fist restored to him the activity of his youth. He ranfor the first time for twenty years; and only stopped to rememberhis infirmities, and to catch his breath, when he was out ofsight of the cottage, among the trees.

He sat down to rest and recover himself, with the comfortinginner conviction that, in one respect at least, he had gained hispoint. The furious savage, with the eyes that darted fire and thefist that threatened destruction, was a total stranger to him. Inother words, _not_ the man who had passed as the lady's husbandat the inn.

At the same time it was equally certain that he _was_ the maninvolved in the compromising correspondence which Bishopriggspossessed. To appeal, however, to his interest in obtaining theletter was entirely incompatible (after the recent exhibition ofhis fist) with the strong regard which Bishopriggs felt for hisown personal security. There was no alternative now but to opennegotiations with the one other person concerned in the matter(fortunately, on this occasion, a person of the gentler sex), whowas actually within reach. Mrs. Glenarm was at Swanhaven. She hada direct interest in clearing up the question of a prior claim toMr. Geoffrey Delamayn on the part of another woman. And she couldonly do that by getting the correspondence into her own hands.

"Praise Providence for a' its mercies!" said Bishopriggs, gettingon his feet again. "I've got twa strings, as they say, to my boo.I trow the woman's the canny string o' the twa--and we'll een trythe twanging of her."

He set forth on his road back again, to search among the companyat the lake for Mrs. Glenarm.

The dance had reached its climax of animation when Bishopriggsreappeared on the scene of his duties; and the ranks of thecompany had been recruited, in his absence, by the very personwhom it was now his foremost object to approach.

Receiving, with supple submission, a reprimand for his prolongedabsence from the chief of the servants, Bishopriggs--keeping hisone observant eye carefully on the look-out--busied himself inpromoting the circulation of ices and cool drinks.

While he was thus occupied, his attention was attracted by twopersons who, in very different ways, stood out prominently asmarked characters among the rank and file of the guests.

The first person was a vivacious, irascible old gentleman, whopersisted in treating the undeniable fact of his age on thefooting of a scandalous false report set afloat by Time. He wassuperbly strapped and padded. His hair, his teeth, and hiscomplexion were triumphs of artificial youth. When he was notoccupied among the youngest women present--which was veryseldom--he attached himself exclusively to the youngest men. Heinsisted on joining every dance. Twice he measured his lengthupon the grass, but nothing daunted him. He was waltzing again,with another young woman, at the next dance, as if nothing hadhappened. Inquiring who this effervescent old gentleman might be,Bishopriggs discovered that he was a retired officer in the navy;commonly known (among his inferiors) as "The Tartar;" moreformally described in society as Captain Newenden, the last malerepresentative of one of the oldest families in England.

The second person, who appeared to occupy a position ofdistinction at the dance in the glade, was a lady.

To the eye of Bishopriggs, she was a miracle of beauty, with asmall fortune for a poor man carried about her in silk, lace, andjewelry. No woman present was the object of such specialattention among the men as this fascinating and pricelesscreature. She sat fanning herself with a matchless work of art(supposed to be a handkerchief) representing an island of cambricin the midst of an ocean of lace. She was surrounded by a littlecourt of admirers, who fetched and carried at her slightest nod,like well-trained dogs. Sometimes they brought refreshments,which she had asked for, only to decline taking them when theycame. Sometimes they brought information of what was going onamong the dancers, which the lady had been eager to receive whenthey went away, and in which she had ceased to feel the smallestinterest when they came back. Every body burst into ejaculationsof distress when she was asked to account for her absence fromthe dinner, and answered, "My poor nerves." Every body said,"What should we have done without you!"--when she doubted if shehad done wisely in joining the party at all. Inquiring who thisfavored lady might be, Bishopriggs discovered that she was theniece of the indomitable old gentleman who _would_ dance--or,more plainly still, no less a person than his contemplatedcustomer, Mrs. Glenarm.

With all his enormous assurance Bishopriggs was daunted when hefound himself facing the question of what he was to do next.

To open negotiations with Mrs. Glenarm, under presentcircumstances, was, for a man in his position, simply impossible.But, apart from this, the prospect of profitably addressinghimself to that lady in the future was, to say the least of it,beset with difficulties of no common kind.

Supposing the means of disclosing Geoffrey's position to her tobe found--what would she do, when she received her warning? Shewould in all probability apply to one of two formidable men, bothof whom were interested in the matter. If she went straight tothe man accused of attempting to marry her, at a time when he wasalready engaged to another woman--Bishopriggs would find himselfconfronted with the owner of that terrible fist, which had justlyterrified him even on a distant and cursory view. If, on theother hand she placed her interests in the care of heruncle--Bishopriggs had only to look at the captain, and tocalculate his chance of imposing terms on a man who owed Life abill of more than sixty years' date, and who openly defied timeto recover the debt.

With these serious obstacles standing in the way, what was to bedone? The only alternative left was to approach Mrs. Glenarmunder shelter of the dark.

Reaching this conclusion, Bishopriggs decided to ascertain fromthe servants what the lady's future movements might be; and, thusinformed,to startle her by anonymous warnings, conveyed through the post,and claiming their answer through the advertising channel of anewspaper. Here was the certainty of alarming her, coupled withthe certainty of safety to himself! Little did Mrs. Glenarmdream, when she capriciously stopped a servant going by with someglasses of lemonade, that the wretched old creature who offeredthe tray contemplated corresponding with her before the week wasout, in the double character of her "Well-Wisher" and her "TrueFriend."

The evening advanced. The shadows lengthened. The waters of thelake grew pitchy black. The gliding of the ghostly swans becamerare and more rare. The elders of the party thought of the drivehome. The juniors (excepting Captain Newenden) began to flag atthe dance. Little by little the comfortable attractions of thehouse--tea, coffee, and candle-light in snug rooms--resumed theirinfluence. The guests abandoned the glade; and the fingers andlungs of the musicians rested at last.

Lady Lundie and her party were the first to send for the carriageand say farewell; the break-up of the household at Windygates onthe next day, and the journey south, being sufficient apologiesfor setting the example of retreat. In an hour more the onlyvisitors left were the guests staying at Swanhaven Lodge.

The company gone, the hired waiters from Kirkandrew were paid anddismissed.

On the journey back the silence of Bishopriggs created somesurprise among his comrades.

"I've got my ain concerns. to think of," was the only answer hevouchsafed to the remonstrances addressed to him. The "concerns"alluded to, comprehended, among other changes of plan, hisdeparture from Kirkandrew the next day--with a reference, in caseof inquiries, to his convenient friend at the Cowgate, Edinburgh.His actual destination--to be kept a secret from every body--wasPerth. The neighborhood of this town--as stated on the authorityof her own maid--was the part of Scotland to which the rich widowcontemplated removing when she left Swanhaven in two days' time.At Perth, Bishopriggs knew of more than one place in which hecould get temporary employment--and at Perth he determined tomake his first anonymous advances to Mrs. Glenarm.

The remainder of the evening passed quietly enough at the Lodge.

The guests were sleepy and dull after the excitement of the day.Mrs. Glenarm retired early. At eleven o'clock Julius Delamayn wasthe only person left up in the house. He was understood to be inhis study, preparing an address to the electors, based oninstructions sent from London by his father. He was actuallyoccupied in the music-room--now that there was nobody to discoverhim--playing exercises softly on his beloved violin.

At the trainer's cottage a trifling incident occured, that night,which afforded materials for a note in Perry's professionaldiary.

Geoffrey had sustained the later trial of walking for a giventime and distance, at his full speed, without showing any ofthose symptoms of exhaustion which had followed the more seriousexperiment of running, to which he had been subjected earlier inthe day. Perry, honestly bent--though he had privately hedged hisown bets--on doing his best to bring his man in good order to thepost on the day of the race, had forbidden Geoffrey to pay hisevening visit to the house, and had sent him to bed earlier thanusual. The trainer was alone, looking over his own written rules,and considering what modifications he should introduce into thediet and exercises of the next day, when he was startled by asound of groaning from the bedroom in which his patron layasleep.

He went in, and found Geoffrey rolling to and fro on the pillow,with his face contorted, with his hands clenched, and with theperspiration standing thick on his forehead--suffering evidentlyunder the nervous oppression produced by the phantom-terrors of adream.

Perry spoke to him, and pulled him up in the bed. He woke with ascream. He stared at his trainer in vacant terror, and spoke tohis trainer in wild words. "What are your horrid eyes looking atover my shoulder?" he cried out. "Go to the devil--and take yourinfernal slate with you!" Perry spoke to him once more. "You'vebeen dreaming of somebody, Mr. Delamayn. What's to do about aslate?" Geoffrey looked eagerly round the room, and heaved aheavy breath of relief. "I could have sworn she was staring at meover the dwarf pear-trees," he said. "All right, I know where Iam now." Perry (attributing the dream to nothing more importantthan a passing indigestion) administered some brandy and water,and left him to drop off again to sleep. He fretfully forbade theextinguishing of the light. "Afraid of the dark?" said Perry,with a laugh. No. He was afraid of dreaming again of the dumbcook at Windygates House.