Two days after the marriage--on Wednesday, the ninth of Septembera packet of letters, received at Windygates, was forwarded byLady Lundie's steward to Ham Farm.

With one exception, the letters were all addressed either to SirPatrick or to his sister-in-law. The one exception was directedto "Arnold Brinkworth, Esq., care of Lady Lundie, WindygatesHouse, Perthshire"--and the envelope was specially protected by aseal.

Noticing that the post-mark was "Glasgow," Sir Patrick (to whomthe letter had been delivered) looked with a certain distrust atthe handwriting on the address. It was not known to him--but itwas obviously the handwriting of a woman. Lady Lundie was sittingopposite to him at the table. He said, carelessly, "A letter forArnold"--and pushed it across to her. Her ladyship took up theletter, and dropped it, the instant she looked at thehandwriting, as if it had burned her fingers.

"The Person again!" exclaimed Lady Lundie. "The Person, presumingto address Arnold Brinkworth, at My house!"

"Miss Silvester?" asked Sir Patrick.

"No," said her ladyship, shutting her teeth with a snap. "ThePerson may insult me by addressing a letter to my care. But thePerson's name shall not pollute my lips. Not even in your house,Sir Patrick. Not even to please _you._"

Sir Patrick was sufficiently answered. After all that hadhappened--after her farewell letter to Blanche--here was MissSilvester writing to Blanche's husband, of her own accord! It wasunaccountable, to say the least of it. He took the letter back,and looked at it again. Lady Lundie's steward was a methodicalman. He had indorsed each letter received at Windygates with thedate of its delivery. The letter addressed to Arnold had beendelivered on Monday, the seventh of September--on Arnold'swedding day.

What did it mean?

It was pure waste of time to inquire. Sir Patrick rose to lockthe letter up in one of the drawers of the writing-table behindhim. Lady Lundie interfered (in the interest of morality).

"Sir Patrick!"

"Yes?"

"Don't you consider it your duty to open that letter?"

"My dear lady! what can you possibly be thinking of?"

The most virtuous of living women had her answer ready on thespot.

"I am thinking," said Lady Lundie, "of Arnold's moral welfare."

Sir Patrick smiled. On the long list of those respectabledisguises under which we assert our own importance, or gratifyour own love of meddling in our neighbor's affairs, a moralregard for the welfare of others figures in the foremost place,and stands deservedly as number one.

"We shall probably hear from Arnold in a day or two," said SirPatrick, locking the letter up in the drawer. "He shall have itas soon as I know where to send it to him."

The next morning brought news of the bride and bridegroom.

They reported themselves to be too supremely happy to care wherethey lived, so long as they lived together. Every question butthe question of Love was left in the competent hands of theircourier. This sensible and trust-worthy man had decided thatParis was not to be thought of as a place of residence by anysane human being in the month of September. He had arranged thatthey were to leave for Baden--on their way to Switzerland--on thetenth. Letters were accordingly to be addressed to that place,until further notice. If the courier liked Baden, they wouldprobably stay there for some time. If the courier took a fancyfor the mountains, they would in that case go on to Switzerland.In the mean while nothing mattered to Arnold but Blanche--andnothing mattered to Blanche but Arnold.

Sir Patrick re-directed Anne Silvester's letter to Arnold, at thePoste Restante, Baden. A second letter, which had arrived thatmorning (addressed to Arnold in a legal handwriting, and bearingthe post-mark of Edinburgh), was forwarded in the same way, andat the same time.

Two days later Ham Farm was deserted by the guests. Lady Lundiehad gone back to Windygates. The rest had separated in theirdifferent directions. Sir Patrick, who also contemplatedreturning to Scotland, remained behind for a week--a solitaryprisoner in his own country house. Accumulated arrears ofbusiness, with which it was impossible for his steward to dealsingle-handed, obliged him to remain at his estates in Kent forthat time. To a man without a taste for partridge-shooting theordeal was a trying one. Sir Patrick got through the day with thehelp of his business and his books. In the evening the rector ofa neighboring parish drove over to dinner, and engaged his hostat the noble but obsolete game of Piquet. They arranged to meetat each other's houses on alternate days. The rector was anadmirable player; and Sir Patrick, though a born Presbyterian,blessed the Church of England from the bottom of his heart.

Three more days passed. Business at Ham Farm began to draw to anend. The time for Sir Patrick's journey to Scotland came nearer.The two partners at Piquet agreed to meet for a final game, onthe next night, at the rector's house. But (let us take comfortin remembering it) our superiors in Church and State are ascompletely at the mercy of circumstances as the humblest and thepoorest of us. That last game of Piquet between the baronet andthe parson was never to be played.

On the afternoon of the fourth day Sir Patrick came in from adrive, and found a letter from Arnold waiting for him, which hadbeen delivered by the second post.

Judged by externals only, it was a letter of an unusuallyperplexing--possibly also of an unusually interesting--kind.Arnold was one of the last persons in the world whom any of hisfriends would have suspected of being a lengthy correspondent.Here, nevertheless, was a letter from him, of three times thecustomary bulk and weight--and, apparently, of more than commonimportance, in the matter of news, besides. At the top theenvelope was marked "_Immediate._." And at one side (alsounderlined) was the ominous word, "_Private._."

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" thought Sir Patrick.

He opened the envelope.

Two inclosures fell out on the table. He looked at them for amoment. They were the two letters which he had forwarded toBaden. The third letter remaining in his hand and occupying adouble sheet, was from Arnold himself. Sir Patrick read Arnold'sletter first. It was dated "Baden," and it began as follows:

"My Dear Sir Patrick,--Don't be alarmed, if you can possibly helpit. I am in a terrible mess."

Sir Patrick looked up for a moment from the letter. Given a youngman who dates from "Baden," and declares himself to be in "aterrible mess," as representing the circumstances of thecase--what is the interpretation to be placed on them? SirPatrick drew the inevitable conclusion. Arnold had been gambling.

He shook his head, and went on with the letter.

"I must say, dreadful as it is, that I am not to blame--nor sheeither, poor thing."

Sir Patrick paused again. "She?" Blanche had apparently beengambling too? Nothing was wanting to complete the picture but anannouncement in the next sentence, presenting the courier ascarried away, in his turn, by the insatiate passion for play. SirPatrick resumed:

"You can not, I am sure, expect _me_ to have known the law. Andas for poor Miss Silvester--"

"Miss Silvester?" What had Miss Silvester to do with it? And whatcould be the meaning of the reference to "the law?"

Sir Patrick had re ad the letter, thus far, standing up. A vaguedistrust stole over him at the appearance of Miss Silvester'sname in connection with the lines which had preceded it. He feltnothing approaching to a clear prevision of what was to come.Some indescribable influence was at work in him, which shook hisnerves, and made him feel the infirmities of his age (as itseemed) on a sudden. It went no further than that. He was obligedto sit down: he was obliged to wait a moment before he went on.

The letter proceeded, in these words:

"And, as for poor Miss Silvester, though she felt, as she remindsme, some misgivings--still, she never could have foreseen, beingno lawyer either, how it was to end. I hardly know the best wayto break it to you. I can't, and won't, believe it myself. Buteven if it should be true, I am quite sure you will find a wayout of it for us. I will stick at nothing, and Miss Silvester (asyou will see by her letter) will stick at nothing either, to setthings right. Of course, I have not said one word to my darlingBlanche, who is quite happy, and suspects nothing. All this, dearSir Patrick, is very badly written, I am afraid, but it is meantto prepare you, and to put the best side on matters at starting.However, the truth must be told--and shame on the Scotch law iswhat _I_ say. This it is, in short: Geoffrey Delamayn is even agreater scoundrel than you think him; and I bitterly repent (asthings have turned out) having held my tongue that night when youand I had our private talk at Ham Farm. You will think I ammixing two things up together. But I am not. Please to keep thisabout Geoffrey in your mind, and piece it together with what Ihave next to say. The worst is still to come. Miss Silvester'sletter (inclosed) tells me this terrible thing. You must knowthat I went to her privately, as Geoffrey's messenger, on the dayof the lawn-party at Windygates. Well--how it could havehappened, Heaven only knows--but there is reason to fear that Imarried her, without being aware of it myself, in August last, atthe Craig Fernie inn."

The letter dropped from Sir Patrick's hand. He sank back in thechair, stunned for the moment, under the shock that had fallen onhim.

He rallied, and rose bewildered to his feet. He took a turn inthe room. He stopped, and summoned his will, and steadied himselfby main force. He picked up the letter, and read the lastsentence again. His face flushed. He was on the point of yieldinghimself to a useless out burst of anger against Arnold, when hisbetter sense checked him at the last moment. "One fool in thefamily is, enough," he said. "_My_ business in this dreadfulemergency is to keep my head clear for Blanche's sake."

He waited once more, to make sure of his own composure--andturned again to the letter, to see what the writer had to say forhimself, in the way of explanation and excuse.

Arnold had plenty to say--with the drawback of not knowing how tosay it. It was hard to decide which quality in his letter wasmost marked--the total absence of arrangement, or the totalabsence of reserve. Without beginning, middle, or end, he toldthe story of his fatal connection with the troubles of AnneSilvester, from the memorable day when Geoffrey Delamayn sent himto Craig Fernie, to the equally memorable night when Sir Patrickhad tried vainly to make him open his lips at Ham Farm.

"I own I have behaved like a fool," the letter concluded, "inkeeping Geoffrey Delamayn's secret for him--as things have turnedout. But how could I tell upon him without compromising MissSilvester? Read her letter, and you will see what she says, andhow generously she releases me. It's no use saying I am sorry Iwasn't more cautious. The mischief is done. I'll stick atnothing--as I have said before--to undo it. Only tell me what isthe first step I am to take; and, as long as it don't part mefrom Blanche, rely on my taking it. Waiting to hear from you, Iremain, dear Sir Patrick, yours in great perplexity, ArnoldBrinkworth."

Sir Patrick folded the letter, and looked at the two inclosureslying on the table. His eye was hard, his brow was frowning, ashe put his hand to take up Anne's letter. The letter fromArnold's agent in Edinburgh lay nearer to him. As it happened, hetook that first.

It was short enough, and clearly enough written, to invite areading before he put it down again. The lawyer reported that hehad made the necessary inquiries at Glasgow, with this result.Anne had been traced to The Sheep's Head Hotel. She had lainthere utterly helpless, from illness, until the beginning ofSeptember. She had been advertised, without result, in theGlasgow newspapers. On the 5th of September she had sufficientlyrecovered to be able to leave the hotel. She had been seen at therailway station on the same day--but from that point all trace ofher had been lost once more. The lawyer had accordingly stoppedthe proceedings, and now waited further instructions from hisclient.

This letter was not without its effect in encouraging Sir Patrickto suspend the harsh and hasty judgment of Anne, which any man,placed in his present situation, must have been inclined to form.Her illness claimed its small share of sympathy. Her friendlessposition--so plainly and so sadly revealed by the advertising inthe newspapers--pleaded for merciful construction of faultscommitted, if faults there were. Gravely, but not angrily, SirPatrick opened her letter--the letter that cast a doubt on hisniece's marriage.

Thus Anne Silvester wrote:

"GLASGOW, _September_ 5.

"DEAR MR. BRINKWORTH,--Nearly three weeks since I attempted towrite to you from this place. I was seized by sudden illnesswhile I was engaged over my letter; and from that time to this Ihave laid helpless in bed--very near, as they tell me, to death.I was strong enough to be dressed, and to sit up for a littlewhile yesterday and the day before. To-day, I have made a betteradvance toward recovery. I can hold my pen and control mythoughts. The first use to which I put this improvement is towrite these lines.

"I am going (so far as I know) to surprise--possibly toalarm--you. There is no escaping from it, for you or for me; itmust be done.

"Thinking of how best to introduce what I am now obliged to say,I can find no better way than this. I must ask you to take yourmemory back to a day which we have both bitter reason toregret--the day when Geoffrey Delamayn sent you to see me at theinn at Craig Fernie.

"You may possibly not remember--it unhappily produced noimpression on you at the time--that I felt, and expressed, morethan once on that occasion, a very great dislike to your passingme off on the people of the inn as your wife. It was necessary tomy being permitted to remain at Craig Fernie that you should doso. I knew this; but still I shrank from it. It was impossiblefor me to contradict you, without involving you in the painfulconsequences, and running the risk of making a scandal whichmight find its way to Blanche's ears. I knew this also; but stillmy conscience reproached me. It was a vague feeling. I was quiteunaware of the actual danger in which you were placing yourself,or I would have spoken out, no matter what came of it. I had whatis called a presentiment that you were not actingdiscreetly--nothing more. As I love and honor my mother'smemory--as I trust in the mercy of God--this is the truth.

"You left the inn the next morning, and we have not met since.

"A few days after you went away my anxieties grew more than Icould bear alone. I went secretly to Windygates, and had aninterview with Blanche.

"She was absent for a few minutes from the room in which we hadmet. In that interval I saw Geoffrey Delamayn for the first timesince I had left him at Lady Lundie's lawn-party. He treated meas if I was a stranger. He told me that he had found out all thathad passed between us at the inn. He said he had taken a lawyer'sopinion. Oh, Mr. Brinkworth! how can I break it to you? how can Iwrite the words which repeat what he said to me next? It must bedone. Cruel as it is, it must be done. He refused to my face tomarr y me. He said I was married already. He said I was yourwife.

"Now you know why I have referred you to what I felt (andconfessed to feeling) when we were together at Craig Fernie. Ifyou think hard thoughts, and say hard words of me, I can claim noright to blame you. I am innocent--and yet it is my fault.

"My head swims, and the foolish tears are rising in spite of me.I must leave off, and rest a little.

"I have been sitting at the window, and watching the people inthe street as they go by. They are all strangers. But, somehow,the sight of them seems to rest my mind. The hum of the greatcity gives me heart, and helps me to go on.

"I can not trust myself to write of the man who has betrayed usboth. Disgraced and broken as I am, there is something still leftin me which lifts me above _him._ If he came repentant, at thismoment, and offered me all that rank and wealth and worldlyconsideration can give, I would rather be what I am now than behis wife.

"Let me speak of you; and (for Blanche's sake) let me speak ofmyself.

"I ought, no doubt, to have waited to see you at Windygates, andto have told you at once of what had happened. But I was weak andill and the shock of hearing what I heard fell so heavily on methat I fainted. After I came to myself I was so horrified, when Ithought of you and Blanche that a sort of madness possessed me. Ihad but one idea--the idea of running away and hiding myself.

"My mind got clearer and quieter on the way to this place; and,arrived here, I did what I hope and believe was the best thing Icould do. I consulted two lawyers. They differed in opinion as towhether we were married or not--according to the law whichdecides on such things in Scotland. The first said Yes. Thesecond said No--but advised me to write immediately and tell youthe position in which you stood. I attempted to write the sameday, and fell ill as you know.

"Thank God, the delay that has happened is of no consequence. Iasked Blanche, at Windygates, when you were to be married--andshe told me not until the end of the autumn. It is only the fifthof September now. You have plenty of time before you. For all oursakes, make good use of it.

"What are you to do?

"Go at once to Sir Patrick Lundie, and show him this letter.Follow his advice--no matter how it may affect _me._ I should illrequite your kindness, I should be false indeed to the love Ibear to Blanche, if I hesitated to brave any exposure that maynow be necessary in your interests and in hers. You have been allthat is generous, all that is delicate, all that is kind in thismatter. You have kept my disgraceful secret--I am quite sure ofit--with the fidelity of an honorable man who has had a woman'sreputation placed in his charge. I release you, with my wholeheart, dear Mr. Brinkworth, from your pledge. I entreat you, onmy knees, to consider yourself free to reveal the truth. I willmake any acknowledgment, on my side, that is needful under thecircumstances--no matter how public it may be. Release yourselfat any price; and then, and not till then, give back your regardto the miserable woman who has laden you with the burden of hersorrow, and darkened your life for a moment with the shadow ofher shame.

"Pray don't think there is any painful sacrifice involved inthis. The quieting of my own mind is involved in it--and that isall.

"What has life left for _me?_ Nothing but the barren necessity ofliving. When I think of the future now, my mind passes over theyears that may be left to me in this world. Sometimes I dare tohope that the Divine Mercy of Christ--which once pleaded on earthfor a woman like me--may plead, when death has taken me, for myspirit in Heaven. Sometimes I dare to hope that I may see mymother, and Blanche's mother, in the better world. Their heartswere bound together as the hearts of sisters while they werehere; and they left to their children the legacy of their love.Oh, help me to say, if we meet again, that not in vain I promisedto be a sister to Blanche! The debt I owe to her is thehereditary debt of my mother's gratitude. And what am I now? Anobstacle in the way of the happiness of her life. Sacrifice me tothat happiness, for God's sake! It is the one thing I have leftto live for. Again and again I say it--I care nothing for myself.I have no right to be considered; I have no wish to beconsidered. Tell the whole truth about me, and call me to bearwitness to it as publicly as you please!

"I have waited a little, once more, trying to think, before Iclose my letter, what there may be still left to write.

"I can not think of any thing left but the duty of informing youhow you may find me. if you wish to write--or if it is thoughtnecessary that we should meet again.

"One word before I tell you this.

"It is impossible for me to guess what you will do, or what youwill be advised to do by others, when you get my letter. I don'teven know that you may not already have heard of what yourposition is from Geoffrey Delamayn himself. In this event, or inthe event of your thinking it desirable to take Blanche into yourconfidence, I venture to suggest that you should appoint someperson whom you can trust to see me on your behalf--or, if youcan not do this that you should see me in the presence of a thirdperson. The man who has not hesitated to betray us both, will nothesitate to misrepresent us in the vilest way, if he can do it inthe future. For your own sake, let us be careful to give lyingtongues no opportunity of assailing your place in Blanche'sestimation. Don't act so as to risk putting yourself in a falseposition _again!_ Don't let it be possible that a feelingunworthy of her should be roused in the loving and generousnature of your future wife!

"This written, I may now tell you how to communicate with meafter I have left this place.

"You will find on the slip of paper inclosed the name and addressof the second of the two lawyers whom I consulted in Glasgow. Itis arranged between us that I am to inform him, by letter, of thenext place to which I remove, and that he is to communicate theinformation either to you or to Sir Patrick Lundie, on yourapplying for it personally or by writing. I don't yet know myselfwhere I may find refuge. Nothing is certain but that I can not,in my present state of weakness, travel far.

"If you wonder why I move at all until I am stronger, I can onlygive a reason which may appear fanciful and overstrained.

"I have been informed that I was advertised in the Glasgownewspapers during the time when I lay at this hotel, a strangerat the point of death. Trouble has perhaps made me morbidlysuspicious. I am afraid of what may happen if I stay here, aftermy place of residence has been made publicly known. So, as soonas I can move, I go away in secret. It will be enough for me, ifI can find rest and peace in some quiet place, in the countryround Glasgow. You need feel no anxiety about my means of living.I have money enough for all that I need--and, if I get wellagain, I know how to earn my bread.

"I send no message to Blanche--I dare not till this is over. Waittill she is your happy wife; and then give her a kiss, and say itcomes from Anne.

"Try and forgive me, dear Mr. Brinkworth. I have said all. Yoursgratefully,

"ANNE SILVESTER."

Sir Patrick put the letter down with unfeigned respect for thewoman who had written it.

Something of the personal influence which Anne exercised more orless over all the men with whom she came in contact seemed tocommunicate itself to the old lawyer through the medium of herletter. His thoughts perversely wandered away from the seriousand pressing question of his niece's position into a region ofpurely speculative inquiry relating to Anne. What infatuation (heasked himself) had placed that noble creature at the mercy ofsuch a man as Geoffrey Delamayn?

We have all, at one time or another in our lives, been perplexedas Sir Patrick was perplexed now.

If we know any thing by experience, we know that women castthemselves away impulsively on unworthy men, and that men ruinthemselves headlong for unworthy w omen. We have the institutionof Divorce actually among us, existing mainly because the twosexes are perpetually placing themselves in these anomalousrelations toward each other. And yet, at every fresh instancewhich comes before us, we persist in being astonished to findthat the man and the woman have not chosen each other on rationaland producible grounds! We expect human passion to act on logicalprinciples; and human fallibility--with love for its guide--to beabove all danger of making a mistake! Ask the wisest among AnneSilvester's sex what they saw to rationally justify them inchoosing the men to whom they have given their hearts and theirlives, and you will be putting a question to those wise womenwhich they never once thought of putting to themselves. Nay, morestill. Look into your own experience, and say frankly, Could youjustify your own excellent choice at the time when youirrevocably made it? Could you have put your reasons on paperwhen you first owned to yourself that you loved him? And wouldthe reasons have borne critical inspection if you had?

Sir Patrick gave it up in despair. The interests of his niecewere at stake. He wisely determined to rouse his mind byoccupying himself with the practical necessities of the moment.It was essential to send an apology to the rector, in the firstplace, so as to leave the evening at his disposal for consideringwhat preliminary course of conduct he should advise Arnold topursue.

After writing a few lines of apology to his partner atPiquet--assigning family business as the excuse for breaking hisengagement--Sir Patrick rang the bell. The faithful Duncanappeared, and saw at once in his master s face that something hadhappened.

"Send a man with this to the Rectory," said Sir Patrick. "I can'tdine out to-day. I must have a chop at home."

"I am afraid, Sir Patrick--if I may be excused for remarkingit--you have had some bad news?"

"The worst possible news, Duncan. I can't tell you about it now.Wait within hearing of the bell. In the mean time let nobodyinterrupt me. If the steward himself comes I can't see him."

After thinking it over carefully, Sir Patrick decided that therewas no alternative but to send a message to Arnold and Blanche,summoning them back to England in the first place. The necessityof questioning Arnold, in the minutest detail, as to every thingthat had happened between Anne Silvester and himself at the CraigFernie inn, was the first and foremost necessity of the case.

At the same time it appeared to be desirable, for Blanche's sake,to keep her in ignorance, for the present at least, of what hadhappened. Sir Patrick met this difficulty with characteristicingenuity and readiness of resource.

He wrote a telegram to Arnold, expressed in the following terms:

"Your letter and inclosures received. Return to Ham Farm as soonas you conveniently can. Keep the thing still a secret fromBlanche. Tell her, as the reason for coming back, that the losttrace of Anne Silvester has been recovered, and that there may bereasons for her returning to England before any thing further canbe done."

Duncan having been dispatched to the station with this message,Duncan's master proceeded to calculate the question of time.

Arnold would in all probability receive the telegram at Baden, onthe next day, September the seventeenth. In three days more heand Blanche might be expected to reach Ham Farm. During theinterval thus placed at his disposal Sir Patrick would have ampletime in which to recover himself, and to see his way to actingfor the best in the alarming emergency that now confronted him.

On the nineteenth Sir Patrick received a telegram informing himthat he might expect to see the young couple late in the eveningon the twentieth.

Late in the evening the sound of carriage-wheels was audible onthe drive; and Sir Patrick, opening the door of his room, heardthe familiar voices in the hall.

"Well!" cried Blanche, catching sight of him at the door, "isAnne found?"

"Not just yet, my dear."

"Is there news of her?"

"Yes."

"Am I in time to be of use?"

"In excellent time. You shall hear all about it to-morrow. Go andtake off your traveling-things, and come down again to supper assoon as you can."

Blanche kissed him, and went on up stairs. She had, as her unclethought in the glimpse he had caught of her, been improved by hermarriage. It had quieted and steadied her. There were graces inher look and manner which Sir Patrick had not noticed before.Arnold, on his side, appeared to less advantage. He was restlessand anxious; his position with Miss Silvester seemed to bepreying on his mind. As soon as his young wife's back was turned,he appealed to Sir Patrick in an eager whisper.

"I hardly dare ask you what I have got it on my mind to say," hebegan. "I must bear it if you are angry with me, Sir Patrick.But--only tell me one thing. Is there a way out of it for us?Have you thought of that?"

"I can not trust myself to speak of it clearly and composedlyto-night," said Sir Patrick. "Be satisfied if I tell you that Ihave thought it all out--and wait for the rest till to-morrow."

Other persons concerned in the coming drama had had pastdifficulties to think out, and future movements to consider,during the interval occupied by Arnold and Blanche on theirreturn journey to England. Between the seventeenth and thetwentieth of September Geoffrey Delamayn had left Swanhaven, onthe way to his new training quarters in the neighborhood in whichthe Foot-Race at Fulham was to be run. Between the same dates,also, Captain Newenden had taken the opportunity, while passingthrough London on his way south, to consult his solicitors. Theobject of the conference was to find means of discovering ananonymous letter-writer in Scotland, who had presumed to causeserious annoyance to Mrs. Glenarm.

Thus, by ones and twos, converging from widely distant quarters,they were now beginning to draw together, in the nearneighborhood of the great city which was soon destined toassemble them all, for the first and the last time in this world,face to face.