BREAKFAST was just over. Blanche, seeing a pleasantly-idlemorning before her, proposed to Arnold to take a stroll in thegrounds.

The garden was blight with sunshine, and the bride was brightwith good-humor. She caught her uncle's eye, looking at heradmiringly, and paid him a little compliment in return. "You haveno idea," she said, "how nice it is to be back at Ham Farm!"

"I am to understand then," rejoined Sir Patrick, "that I amforgiven for interrupting the honey-moon?"

"You are more than forgiven for interrupting it," saidBlanche--"you are thanked. As a married woman," she proceeded,with the air of a matron of at least twenty years' standing, "Ihave been thinking the subject over; and I have arrived at theconclusion that a honey-moon which takes the form of a tour onthe Continent, is one of our national abuses which stands in needof reform. When you are in love with each other (consider amarriage without love to be no marriage at all), what do you wantwith the excitement of seeing strange places? Isn't it excitementenough, and isn't it strange enough, to a newly-married woman tosee such a total novelty as a husband? What is the mostinteresting object on the face of creation to a man in Arnold'sposition? The Alps? Certainly not! The most interesting object isthe wife. And the proper time for a bridal tour is the time--sayten or a dozen years later--when you are beginning (not to gettired of each other, that's out of the question) but to get alittle too well used to each other. Then take your tour toSwitzerland--and you give the Alps a chance. A succession ofhoney-moon trips, in the autumn of married life--there is myproposal for an improvement on the present state of things! Comeinto the garden, Arnold; and let us calculate how long it will bebefore we get weary of each other, and want the beauties ofnature to keep us company."

Arnold looked appealingly to Sir Patrick. Not a word had passedbetween them, as yet, on the se rious subject of Anne Silvester'sletter. Sir Patrick undertook the responsibility of making thenecessary excuses to Blanche.

"Forgive me," he said, "if I ask leave to interfere with yourmonopoly of Arnold for a little while. I have something to say tohim about his property in Scotland. Will you leave him with me,if I promise to release him as soon as possible?"

Blanche smiled graciously. "You shall have him as long as youlike, uncle. There's your hat," she added, tossing it to herhusband, gayly. "I brought it in for you when I got my own. Youwill find me on the lawn."

She nodded, and went out.

"Let me hear the worst at once, Sir Patrick," Arnold began. "Isit serious? Do you think I am to blame?"

"I will answer your last question first," said Sir Patrick. "Do Ithink you are to blame? Yes--in this way. You committed an act ofunpardonable rashness when you consented to go, as GeoffreyDelamayn's messenger, to Miss Silvester at the inn. Having onceplaced yourself in that false position, you could hardly haveacted, afterward, otherwise than you did. You could not beexpected to know the Scotch law. And, as an honorable man, youwere bound to keep a secret confided to you, in which thereputation of a woman was concerned. Your first and last error inthis matter, was the fatal error of involving yourself inresponsibilities which belonged exclusively to another man."

"The man had saved my life." pleaded Arnold--"and I believed Iwas giving service for service to my dearest friend."

"As to your other question," proceeded Sir Patrick. "Do Iconsider your position to be a serious one? Most assuredly, I do!So long as we are not absolutely certain that Blanche is yourlawful wife, the position is more than serious: it isunendurable. I maintain the opinion, mind, out of which (thanksto your honorable silence) that scoundrel Delamayn contrived tocheat me. I told him, what I now tell you--that your sayings anddoings at Craig Fernie, do _not_ constitute a marriage, accordingto Scottish law. But," pursued Sir Patrick, holding up a warningforefinger at Arnold, "you have read it in Miss Silvester'sletter, and you may now take it also as a result of myexperience, that no individual opinion, in a matter of this kind,is to be relied on. Of two lawyers, consulted by Miss Silvesterat Glasgow, one draws a directly opposite conclusion to mine, anddecides that you and she are married. I believe him to be wrong,but in our situation, we have no other choice than to boldlyencounter the view of the case which he represents. In plainEnglish, we must begin by looking the worst in the face."

Arnold twisted the traveling hat which Blanche had thrown to him,nervously, in both hands. "Supposing the worst comes to theworst," he asked, "what will happen?"

Sir Patrick shook his head.

"It is not easy to tell you," he said, "without entering into thelegal aspect of the case. I shall only puzzle you if I do that.Suppose we look at the matter in its social bearings--I mean, asit may possibly affect you and Blanche, and your unbornchildren?"

Arnold gave the hat a tighter twist than ever. "I never thoughtof the children," he said, with a look of consternation.

"The children may present themselves," returned Sir Patrick,dryly, "for all that. Now listen. It may have occurred to yourmind that the plain way out of our present dilemma is for you andMiss Silvester, respectively, to affirm what we know to be thetruth--namely, that you never had the slightest intention ofmarrying each other. Beware of founding any hopes on any suchremedy as that! If you reckon on it, you reckon without GeoffreyDelamayn. He is interested, remember, in proving you and MissSilvester to be man and wife. Circumstances may arise--I won'twaste time in guessing at what they may be--which will enable athird person to produce the landlady and the waiter at CraigFernie in evidence against you--and to assert that yourdeclaration and Miss Silvester's declaration are the result ofcollusion between you two. Don't start! Such things have happenedbefore now. Miss Silvester is poor; and Blanche is rich. You maybe made to stand in the awkward position of a man who is denyinghis marriage with a poor woman, in order to establish hismarriage with an heiress: Miss Silvester presumably aiding thefraud, with two strong interests of her own as inducements--theinterest of asserting the claim to be the wife of a man of rank,and the interest of earning her reward in money for resigning youto Blanche. There is a case which a scoundrel might set up--andwith some appearance of truth too--in a court of justice!"

"Surely, the law wouldn't allow him to do that?"

"The law will argue any thing, with any body who will pay the lawfor the use of its brains and its time. Let that view of thematter alone now. Delamayn can set the case going, if he likes,without applying to any lawyer to help him. He has only to causea report to reach Blanche's ears which publicly asserts that sheis not your lawful wife. With her temper, do you suppose shewould leave us a minute's peace till the matter was cleared up?Or take it the other way. Comfort yourself, if you will, with theidea that this affair will trouble nobody in the present. How arewe to know it may not turn up in the future under circumstanceswhich may place the legitimacy of your children in doubt? We havea man to deal with who sticks at nothing. We have a state of thelaw which can only be described as one scandalous uncertaintyfrom beginning to end. And we have two people (Bishopriggs andMrs. Inchbare) who can, and will, speak to what took placebetween you and Anne Silvester at the inn. For Blanche's sake,and for the sake of your unborn children, we must face thismatter on the spot--and settle it at once and forever. Thequestion before us now is this. Shall we open the proceedings bycommunicating with Miss Silvester or not?"

At that important point in the conversation they were interruptedby the reappearance of Blanche. Had she, by any accident, heardwhat they had been saying?

No; it was the old story of most interruptions. Idleness thatconsiders nothing, had come to look at Industry that bears everything. It is a law of nature, apparently, that the people in thisworld who have nothing to do can not support the sight of anuninterrupted occupation in the hands of their neighbors. Blancheproduced a new specimen from Arnold's collection of hats. "I havebeen thinking about it in the garden," she said, quite seriously."Here is the brown one with the high crown. You look better inthis than in the white one with the low crown. I have come tochange them, that's all." She changed the hats with Arnold, andwent on, without the faintest suspicion that she was in the way."Wear the brown one when you come out--and come soon, dear. Iwon't stay an instant longer, uncle--I wouldn't interrupt you forthe world." She kissed her hand to Sir Patrick, and smiled at herhusband, and went out.

"What were we saying?" asked Arnold. "It's awkward to beinterrupted in this way, isn't it?"

"If I know any thing of female human nature," returned SirPatrick, composedly, "your wife will be in and out of the room,in that way, the whole morning. I give her ten minutes, Arnold,before she changes her mind again on the serious and weightysubject of the white hat and the brown. These littleinterruptions--otherwise quite charming--raised a doubt in mymind. Wouldn't it be wise (I ask myself), if we made a virtue ofnecessity, and took Blanche into the conversation? What do yousay to calling her back and telling her the truth?"

Arnold started, and changed color.

"There are difficulties in the way," he said.

"My good fellow! at every step of this business there aredifficulties in the way. Sooner or later, your wife must knowwhat has happened. The time for telling her is, no doubt, amatter for your decision, not mine. All I say is this. Considerwhether the disclosure won't come from you with a better grace,if you make it before you are fairly driven to the wall, andobliged to open your lips."

Arnold rose to his fee t--took a turn in the room--sat downagain--and looked at Sir Patrick, with the expression of athoroughly bewildered and thoroughly helpless man.

"I don't know what to do," he said. "It beats me altogether. Thetruth is, Sir Patrick, I was fairly forced, at Craig Fernie, intodeceiving Blanche--in what might seem to her a very unfeeling,and a very unpardonable way."

"That sounds awkward! What do you mean?"

"I'll try and tell you. You remember when you went to the inn tosee Miss Silvester? Well, being there privately at the time, ofcourse I was obliged to keep out of your way."

"I see! And, when Blanche came afterward, you were obliged tohide from Blanche, exactly as you had hidden from me?"

"Worse even than that! A day or two later, Blanche took me intoher confidence. She spoke to me of her visit to the inn, as if Iwas a perfect stranger to the circumstances. She told me to myface, Sir Patrick, of the invisible man who had kept so strangelyout of her way--without the faintest suspicion that I was theman. And I never opened my lips to set her right! I was obligedto be silent, or I must have betrayed Miss Silvester. What willBlanche think of me, if I tell her now? That's the question!"

Blanche's name had barely passed her husband's lips beforeBlanche herself verified Sir Patrick's prediction, by reappearingat the open French window, with the superseded white hat in herhand.

"Haven't you done yet!" she exclaimed. "I am shocked, uncle, tointerrupt you again--but these horrid hats of Arnold's arebeginning to weigh upon my mind. On reconsideration, I think thewhite hat with the low crown is the most becoming of the two.Change again, dear. Yes! the brown hat is hideous. There's abeggar at the gate. Before I go quite distracted, I shall givehim the brown hat, and have done with the difficulty in thatmanner. Am I very much in the way of business? I'm afraid I mustappear restless? Indeed, I _am_ restless. I can't imagine what isthe matter with me this morning."

"I can tell you," said Sir Patrick, in his gravest and dryestmanner. "You are suffering, Blanche, from a malady which isexceedingly common among the young ladies of England. As adisease it is quite incurable--and the name of it isNothing-to-Do."

Blanche dropped her uncle a smart little courtesy. "You mighthave told me I was in the way in fewer words than that." Shewhisked round, kicked the disgraced brown hat out into theveranda before her, and left the two gentlemen alone once more.

"Your position with your wife, Arnold," resumed Sir Patrick,returning gravely to the matter in hand, "is certainly adifficult one." He paused, thinking of the evening when he andBlanche had illustrated the vagueness of Mrs. Inchbare'sdescription of the man at the inn, by citing Arnold himself asbeing one of the hundreds of innocent people who answered to it!"Perhaps," he added, "the situation is even more difficult thanyou suppose. It would have been certainly easier for _you_--andit would have looked more honorable in _her_ estimation--if youhad made the inevitable confession before your marriage. I am, insome degree, answerable for your not having done this--as well asfor the far more serious dilemma with Miss Silvester in which younow stand. If I had not innocently hastened your marriage withBlanche, Miss Silvester's admirable letter would have reached usin ample time to prevent mischief. It's useless to dwell on thatnow. Cheer up, Arnold! I am bound to show you the way out of thelabyrinth, no matter what the difficulties may be--and, pleaseGod, I will do it!"

He pointed to a table at the other end of the room, on whichwriting materials were placed. "I hate moving the moment I havehad my breakfast," he said. "We won't go into the library. Bringme the pen and ink here."

"Are you going to write to Miss Silvester?"

"That is the question before us which we have not settled yet.Before I decide, I want to be in possession of the facts--down tothe smallest detail of what took place between you and MissSilvester at the inn. There is only one way of getting at thosefacts. I am going to examine you as if I had you before me in thewitness-box in court."

With that preface, and with Arnold's letter from Baden in hishand as a brief to speak from, Sir Patrick put his questions inclear and endless succession; and Arnold patiently and faithfullyanswered them all.

The examination proceeded uninterruptedly until it had reachedthat point in the progress of events at which Anne had crushedGeoffrey Delamayn's letter in her hand, and had thrown it fromher indignantly to the other end of the room. There, for thefirst time, Sir Patrick dipped his pen in the ink, apparentlyintending to take a note. "Be very careful here," he said; "Iwant to know every thing that you can tell me about that letter."

"The letter is lost," said Arnold.

"The letter has been stolen by Bishopriggs," returned SirPatrick, "and is in the possession of Bishopriggs at thismoment."

"Why, you know more about it than I do!" exclaimed Arnold.

"I sincerely hope not. I don't know what was inside the letter.Do you?"

"Yes. Part of it at least."

"Part of it?"

"There were two letters written, on the same sheet of paper,"said Arnold. "One of them was written by Geoffrey Delamayn--andthat is the one I know about."

Sir Patrick started. His face brightened; he made a hasty note."Go on," he said, eagerly. "How came the letters to be written onthe same sheet? Explain that!"

Arnold explained that Geoffrey, in the absence of any thing elseto write his excuses on to Anne, had written to her on the fourthor blank page of a letter which had been addressed to him by Anneherself.

"Did you read that letter?" asked Sir Patrick.

"I might have read it if I had liked."

"And you didn't read it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Out of delicacy."

Even Sir Patrick's carefully trained temper was not proof againstthis. "That is the most misplaced act of delicacy I ever heard ofin my life!" cried the old gentleman, warmly. "Never mind! it'suseless to regret it now. At any rate, you read Delamayn's answerto Miss Silvester's letter?"

"Yes--I did."

"Repeat it--as nearly as you can remember at this distance oftime."

"It was so short," said Arnold, "that there is hardly any thingto repeat. As well as I remember, Geoffrey said he was calledaway to London by his father's illness. He told Miss Silvester tostop where she was; and he referred her to me, as messenger.That's all I recollect of it now."

"Cudgel your brains, my good fellow! this is very important. Didhe make no allusion to his engagement to marry Miss Silvester atCraig Fernie? Didn't he try to pacify her by an apology of somesort?"

The question roused Arnold's memory to make another effort.

"Yes," he answered. "Geoffrey said something about being true tohis engagement, or keeping his promise or words to that effect."

"You're sure of what you say now?"

"I am certain of it."

Sir Patrick made another note.

"Was the letter signed?" he asked, when he had done.

"Yes."

"And dated?"

"Yes." Arnold's memory made a second effort, after he had givenhis second affirmative answer. "Wait a little," he said. "Iremember something else about the letter. It was not only dated.The time of day at which it was written was put as well."

"How came he to do that?"

"I suggested it. The letter was so short I felt ashamed todeliver it as it stood. I told him to put the time--so as to showher that he was obliged to write in a hurry. He put the time whenthe train started; and (I think) the time when the letter waswritten as well."

"And you delivered that letter to Miss Silvester, with your ownhand, as soon as you saw her at the inn?"

"I did."

Sir Patrick made a third note, and pushed the paper away from himwith an air of supreme satisfaction.

"I always suspected that lost letter to be an importantdocument," he said--"or Bishopriggs would never have stolen it.We must get possession of it, Arnold, at any sacrifice. The firstthing to be done (exactly as I anticipated), is to write to theGlasgow lawyer, and find Miss Silvester."

"Wait a lit tle!" cried a voice at the veranda. "Don't forgetthat I have come back from Baden to help you!"

Sir Patrick and Arnold both looked up. This time Blanche hadheard the last words that had passed between them. She sat downat the table by Sir Patrick's side, and laid her hand caressinglyon his shoulder.

"You are quite right, uncle," she said. "I _am_ suffering thismorning from the malady of having nothing to do. Are you going towrite to Anne? Don't. Let me write instead."

Sir Patrick declined to resign the pen.

"The person who knows Miss Silvester's address," he said, "is alawyer in Glasgow. I am going to write to the lawyer. When hesends us word where she is--then, Blanche, will be the time toemploy your good offices in winning back your friend."

He drew the writing materials once more with in his reach, and,suspending the remainder of Arnold's examination for the present,began his letter to Mr. Crum.

Blanche pleaded hard for an occupation of some sort. "Can nobodygive me something to do?" she asked. "Glasgow is such a long wayoff, and waiting is such weary work. Don't sit there staring atme, Arnold! Can't you suggest something?"

Arnold, for once, displayed an unexpected readiness of resource.

"If you want to write," he said, "you owe Lady Lundie a letter.It's three days since you heard from her--and you haven'tanswered her yet."

Sir Patrick paused, and looked up quickly from his writing-desk.

"Lady Lundie?" he muttered, inquiringly.

"Yes," said Blanche. "It's quite true; I owe her a letter. And ofcourse I ought to tell her we have come back to England. She willbe finely provoked when she hears why!"

The prospect of provoking Lady Lundie seemed to rouse Blanche sdormant energies. She took a sheet of her uncle's note-paper, andbegan writing her answer then and there.

Sir Patrick completed his communication to the lawyer--after alook at Blanche, which expressed any thing rather than approvalof her present employment. Having placed his completed note inthe postbag, he silently signed to Arnold to follow him into thegarden. They went out together, leaving Blanche absorbed over herletter to her step-mother.

"Is my wife doing any thing wrong?" asked Arnold, who had noticedthe look which Sir Patrick had cast on Blanche.

"Your wife is making mischief as fast as her fingers can spreadit."

Arnold stared. "She must answer Lady Lundie's letter," he said.

"Unquestionably."

"And she must tell Lady Lundie we have come back."

"I don't deny it."

"Then what is the objection to her writing?"

Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuff--and pointed with his ivorycane to the bees humming busily about the flower-beds in thesunshine of the autumn morning.

"I'll show you the objection," he said. "Suppose Blanche told oneof those inveterately intrusive insects that the honey in theflowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come toan end--do you think he would take the statement for granted? No.He would plunge head-foremost into the nearest flower, andinvestigate it for himself."

"Well?" said Arnold.

"Well--there is Blanche in the breakfast-room telling Lady Lundiethat the bridal tour happens, through an unexpected accident, tohave come to an end. Do you think Lady Lundie is the sort ofperson to take the statement for granted? Nothing of the sort!Lady Lundie, like the bee, will insist on investigating forherself. How it will end, if she discovers the truth--and whatnew complications she may not introduce into a matter which,Heaven knows, is complicated enough already--I leave you toimagine. _My_ poor powers of prevision are not equal to it."

Before Arnold could answer, Blanche joined them from thebreakfast-room.

"I've done it," she said. "It was an awkward letter to write--andit's a comfort to have it over."

"You have done it, my dear," remarked Sir Patrick, quietly. "Andit may be a comfort. But it's not over."

"What do you mean?"

"I think, Blanche, we shall hear from your step-mother by returnof post."