Man and Wife ......................................................................................................................................................1

ON a summer's morning, between thirty and forty years ago, two girls were crying bitterly in the cabin of an

They were both of the same ageeighteen. They had both, from childhood upward, been close and dear

friends at the same school. They were now parting for the first timeand parting, it might be, for life.

Both were the children of poor parents, both had been pupilteachers at the school; and both were destined to

earn their own bread. Personally speaking, and socially speaking, these were the only points of resemblance

Blanche was passably attractive and passably intelligent, and no more. Anne was rarely beautiful and rarely

endowed. Blanche's parents were worthy people, whose first consideration was to secure, at any sacrifice, the

future wellbeing of their child. Anne's parents were heartless and depraved. Their one idea, in connection

with their daughter, was to speculate on her beauty, and to turn her abilities to profitable account.

The girls were starting in life under widely different conditions. Blanche was going to India, to be governess

in the household of a Judge, under care of the Judge's wife. Anne was to wait at home until the first

opportunity offered of sending her cheaply to Milan. There, among strangers, she was to be perfected in the

actress's and the singer's art; then to return to England, and make the fortune of her family on the lyric stage.

Such were the prospects of the two as they sat together in the cabin of the Indiaman locked fast in each

other's arms, and crying bitterly. The whispered farewell talk exchanged between themexaggerated and

impulsive as girls' talk is apt to became honestly, in each case, straight from the heart.

"Blanche! you may be married in India. Make your husband bring you back to England."

"In England or out of England, married or not married, we will meet, darlingif it's years hencewith all

the old love between us; friends who help each other, sisters who trust each other, for life! Vow it, Blanche!"

The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship began to move in the water. It was necessary to appeal to the

captain's authority before the girls could be parted. The captain interfered gently and firmly. "Come, my

dear," he said, putting his arm round Anne; "you won't mind me! I have got a daughter of my own." Anne's

head fell on the sailor's shoulder. He put her, with his own hands, into the shoreboat alongside. In five

minutes more the ship had gathered way; the boat was at the landingstageand the girls had seen the last of

Twentyfour years laterin the summer of eighteen hundred and fiftyfivethere was a villa at Hampstead

The house was still occupied by the persons who desired to let it. On the evening on which this scene opens a

lady and two gentlemen were seated at the dinnertable. The lady had reached the mature age of fortytwo.

She was still a rarely beautiful woman. Her husband, some years younger than herself, faced her at the table,

sitting silent and constrained, and never, even by accident, looking at his wife. The third person was a guest.

It was the end of the dinner. The fruit and the wine were on the table. Mr. Vanborough pushed the bottles in

silence to Mr. Kendrew. The lady of the house looked round at the servant who was waiting, and said, "Tell

The door opened, and a girl twelve years old entered, lending by the hand a younger girl of five. They were

both prettily dressed in white, with sashes of the same shade of light blue. But there was no family

resemblance between them. The elder girl was frail and delicate, with a pale, sensitive face. The younger was

light and florid, with round red cheeks and bright, saucy eyesa charming little picture of happiness and

"If you had not been a total stranger yourself for a whole year past," answered Mrs. Vanborough, "you would

never have made that confession. This is little Blanchethe only child of the dearest friend I have. When

Blanche's mother and I last saw each other we were two poor schoolgirls beginning the world. My friend

went to India, and married there late in life. You may have heard of her husbandthe famous Indian officer,

Sir Thomas Lundie? Yes: 'the rich Sir Thomas,' as you call him. Lady Lundie is now on her way back to

England, for the first time since she left itI am afraid to say how many years since. I expected her

yesterday; I expect her todayshe may come at any moment. We exchanged promises to meet, in the ship

that took her to India'vows' we called them in the dear old times. Imagine how changed we shall find each

"In the mean time," said Mr. Kendrew, "your friend appears to have sent you her little daughter to represent

"A journey ordered by the doctors in India a year since," rejoined Mrs. Vanborough. "They said Blanche's

health required English air. Sir Thomas was ill at the time, and his wife couldn't leave him. She had to send

the child to England, and who should she send her to but me? Look at her now, and say if the English air

hasn't agreed with her! We two mothers, Mr. Kendrew, seem literally to live again in our children. I have an

only child. My friend has an only child. My daughter is little Anneas I was. My friend's daughter is little

Blancheas she was. And, to crown it all, those two girls have taken the same fancy to each other which we

took to each other in the bygone days at school. One has often heard of hereditary hatred. Is there such a

Before the guest could answer, his attention was claimed by the master of the house.

"Kendrew," said Mr. Vanborough, "when you have had enough of domestic sentiment, suppose you take a

The words were spoken with undisguised contempt of tone and manner. Mrs. Vanborough's color rose. She

waited, and controlled the momentary irritation. When she spoke to her husband it was evidently with a wish

"I shall be better when those children have done clattering with their knives and forks."

The girls were peeling fruit. The younger one went on. The elder stopped, and looked at her mother. Mrs.

Vanborough beckoned to Blanche to come to her, and pointed toward the French window opening to the

Anne rose at once, and the two girls went away together into the garden, hand in hand. On their departure Mr.

"The loss of the garden will be a sad loss to those two young ladies," he said. "It really seems to be a pity that

"Leaving the house is not the worst of the sacrifice," answered Mrs. Vanborough. "If John finds Hampstead

too far for him from London, of course we must move. The only hardship that I complain of is the hardship of

Mr. Vanborough looked across the table, as ungraciously as possible, at his wife.

"My dear John," she said, gently, "you forget that, while you are at business, I am here all day. I can't help

seeing the people who come to look at the house. Such people!" she continued, turning to Mr. Kendrew.

"They distrust every thing, from the scraper at the door to the chimneys on the roof. They force their way in

at all hours. They ask all sorts of impudent questionsand they show you plainly that they don't mean to

believe your answers, before you have time to make them. Some wretch of a woman says, 'Do you think the

drains are right?'and sniffs suspiciously, before I can say Yes. Some brute of a man asks, 'Are you quite

sure this house is solidly built, ma'am?'and jumps on the floor at the full stretch of his legs, without waiting

for me to reply. Nobody believes in our gravel soil and our south aspect. Nobody wants any of our

improvements. The moment they hear of John's Artesian well, they look as if they never drank water. And, if

they happen to pass my poultryyard, they instantly lose all appreciation of the merits of a fresh egg!"

Mr. Kendrew laughed. "I have been through it all in my time," he said. "The people who want to take a house

are the born enemies of the people who want to let a house. Oddisn't it, Vanborough?"

Mr. Vanborough's sullen humor resisted his friend as obstinately as it had resisted his wife.

This time the tone was almost brutal. Mrs. Vanborough looked at her husband with unconcealed surprise and

Mrs. Vanborough rose immediately. "Ring, dear," she said, "when you want coffee." As she passed her

husband she stopped and laid her hand tenderly on his forehead. "I wish I could smooth out that frown!" she

whispered. Mr. Vanborough impatiently shook his head. Mrs. Vanborough sighed as she turned to the door.

"I will do my best, John." She looked at Mr. Kendrew, holding the door open for her; and resumed, with an

effort, her former lightness of tone. "But don't forget our 'born enemies!' Somebody may come, even at this

The two gentlemen were left alone over their wine. There was a strong personal contrast between them. Mr.

Vanborough was tall and darka dashing, handsome man; with an energy in his face which all the world

saw; with an inbred falseness under it which only a special observer could detect. Mr. Kendrew was short and

lightslow and awkward in manner, except when something happened to rouse him. Looking in his face, the

world saw an ugly and undemonstrative little man. The special observer, penetrating under the surface, found

"If you ever marry," he said, "don't be such a fool, Kendrew, as I have been. Don't take a wife from the

"If I could get such a wife as yours," replied the other, "I would take her from the stage tomorrow. A

beautiful woman, a clever woman, a woman of unblemished character, and a woman who truly loves you.

"I want a great deal more. I want a woman highly connected and highly breda woman who can receive the

best society in England, and open her husband's way to a position in the world."

"A position in the world!" cried Mr. Kendrew. "Here is a man whose father has left him half a million of

moneywith the one condition annexed to it of taking his father's place at the head of one of the greatest

mercantile houses in England. And he talks about a position, as if he was a junior clerk in his own office!

What on earth does your ambition see, beyond what your ambition has already got?"

Mr. Vanborough finished his glass of wine, and looked his friend steadily in the face.

"My ambition," he said, "sees a Parliamentary career, with a Peerage at the end of itand with no obstacle in

Mr. Kendrew lifted his hand warningly. "Don't talk in that way," he said. "If you're jokingit's a joke I don't

see. If you're in earnestyou force a suspicion on me which I would rather not feel. Let us change the

"She is fortytwo, and I am thirtyfive; and I have been married to her for thirteen years. You know all

thatand you only suspect I am tired of her. Bless your innocence! Have you any thing more to say?"

"If you force me to it, I take the freedom of an old friend, and I say you are not treating her fairly. It's nearly

two years since you broke up your establishment abroad, and came to England on your father's death. With

the exception of myself, and one or two other friends of former days, you have presented your wife to

nobody. Your new position has smoothed the way for you into the best society. You never take your wife

with you. You go out as if you were a single man. I have reason to know that you are actually believed to be a

single man, among these new acquaintances of yours, in more than one quarter. Forgive me for speaking my

mind bluntlyI say what I think. It's unworthy of you to keep your wife buried here, as if you were ashamed

"Wait a little! you are not to have it all your own way, my good fellow. What are the facts? Thirteen years

ago I fell in love with a handsome public singer, and married her. My father was angry with me; and I had to

go and live with her abroad. It didn't matter, abroad. My father forgave me on his deathbed, and I had to

bring her home again. It does matter, at home. I find myself, with a great career opening before me, tied to a

woman whose relations are (as you well know) the lowest of the low. A woman without the slightest

distinction of manner, or the slightest aspiration beyond her nursery and her kitchen, her piano and her books.

Is that a wife who can help me to make my place in society?who can smooth my way through social

obstacles and political obstacles, to the House of Lords? By Jupiter! if ever there was a woman to be 'buried'

(as you call it), that woman is my wife. And, what's more, if you want the truth, it's because I can't bury her

here that I'm going to leave this house. She has got a cursed knack of making acquaintances wherever she

goes. She'll have a circle of friends about her if I leave her in this neighborhood much longer. Friends who

remember her as the famous operasinger. Friends who will see her swindling scoundrel of a father (when

my back is turned) coming drunk to the door to borrow money of her! I tell you, my marriage has wrecked

my prospects. It's no use talking to me of my wife's virtues. She is a millstone round my neck, with all her

virtues. If I had not been a born idiot I should have waited, and married a woman who would have been of

Mr. Vanborough started. His eyes fell, for the first time, before the eyes of his friend.

"Nothing. I don't move in Lady Jane's worldbut I do go sometimes to the opera. I saw you with her last

night in her box; and I heard what was said in the stalls near me. You were openly spoken of as the favored

man who was singled out from the rest by Lady Jane. Imagine what would happen if your wife heard that!

You are wrong, Vanboroughyou are in every way wrong. You alarm, you distress, you disappoint me. I

never sought this explanationbut now it has come, I won't shrink from it. Reconsider your conduct;

reconsider what you have said to meor you count me no longer among your friends. No! I want no farther

talk about it now. We are both getting hotwe may end in saying what had better have been left unsaid.

Once more, let us change the subject. You wrote me word that you wanted me here today, because you

Silence followed that question. Mr. Vanborough's face betrayed signs of embarrassment. He poured himself

"It's not so easy to tell you what I want," he said, "after the tone you have taken with me about my wife."

"It will come better," he answered, "from a third person, whom I expect here every minute. He is in

"Yesthe junior partner in the firm of Delamayn, Hawke, and Delamayn. Do you know him?"

"I am acquainted with him. His wife's family were friends of mine before he married. I don't like him."

"You're rather hard to please today! Delamayn is a rising man, if ever there was one yet. A man with a

career before him, and with courage enough to pursue it. He is going to leave the Firm, and try his luck at the

"I have no objection whatever. We meet with people occasionally whom we dislike without knowing why.

"Whatever you do you must put up with him this evening. He will be here directly."

He was there at that moment. The servant opened the door, and announced"Mr. Delamayn."

Externally speaking, the rising solicitor, who was going to try his luck at the Bar, looked like a man who was

going to succeed. His hard, hairless face, his watchful gray eyes, his thin, resolute lips, said plainly, in so

many words, "I mean to get on in the world; and, if you are in my way, I mean to get on at your expense."

Mr. Delamayn was habitually polite to every bodybut he had never been known to say one unnecessary

word to his dearest friend. A man of rare ability; a man of unblemished honor (as the code of the world goes);

but not a man to be taken familiarly by the hand. You would never have borrowed money of himbut you

would have trusted him with untold gold. Involved in private and personal troubles, you would have hesitated

at asking him to help you. Involved in public and producible troubles, you would have said, Here is my man.

"Kendrew is an old friend of mine," said Mr. Vanborough, addressing himself to the lawyer. "Whatever you

"'Because nothing of the sort is necessary. If the facts of the case are correctly stated there is not the slightest

With that reply Mr. Delamayn took a written paper from his pocket, and spread it out on the table before him.

Mr. Kendrew started, and showed the first tokens of interest in the proceedings which had escaped him yet.

"The case," he resumed, "as originally stated by you, and taken down in writing by our headclerk."

"What have we got to do with that now?" he asked. "You have made your inquiries to prove the correctness

"I have found out that you are rightif the case is right. I wish to be sure that no mistake has occurred

between you and the clerk. This is a very important matter. I am going to take the responsibility of giving an

opinion which may be followed by serious consequences; and I mean to assure myself that the opinion is

given on a sound basis, first. I have some questions to ask you. Don't be impatient, if you please. They won't

"You were married at Inchmallock, in Ireland, Mr. Vanborough, thirteen years since?"

"Your father and mother were Protestants? and you were baptized and brought up in the Church of England?"

"Miss Anne Silvester felt, and expressed, a strong repugnance to marrying you, because you and she

"You got over her objection by consenting to become n Roman Catholic, like herself?"

Referring perpetually to the paper in his hand, Mr. Delamayn was especially careful in comparing that last

"The priest who married you was one Ambrose Redmana young man recently appointed to his clerical

"Are you sure he never inquired whether you had both been Catholics for more than one year before you

"He must have forgotten that part of his dutyor being only a beginner, he may well have been ignorant of it

Mr. Vanborough's swarthy complexion slowly turned pale. He cast one furtive glance at Mr. Kendrew, and

"The law," answered Mr. Delamayn, "is beyond all doubt or dispute. Your marriage with Miss Anne Silvester

The rising solicitor lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise. If Mr. Kendrew wanted information, why should

Mr. Kendrew ask for it in that way? "Do you wish me to go into the law of the case?" he inquired.

Mr. Delamayn stated the law, as that law still standsto the disgrace of the English Legislature and the

"By the Irish Statute of George the Second," he said, "every marriage celebrated by a Popish priest between

two Protestants, or between a Papist and any person who has been a Protestant within twelve months before

the marriage, is declared null and void. And by two other Acts of the same reign such a celebration of

marriage is made a felony on the part of the priest. The clergy in Ireland of other religious denominations

have been relieved from this law. But it still remains in force so far as the Roman Catholic priesthood is

"Is such a state of things possible in the age we live in!" exclaimed Mr. Kendrew.

Mr. Delamayn smiled. He had outgrown the customary illusions as to the age we live in.

"There are other instances in which the Irish marriagelaw presents some curious anomalies of its own," he

went on. "It is felony, as I have just told you, for a Roman Catholic priest to celebrate a marriage which may

be lawfully celebrated by a parochial clergyman, a Presbyterian mini ster, and a Nonconformist minister. It

is also felony (by another law) on the part of a parochial clergyman to celebrate a marriage that may be

lawfully celebrated by a Roman Catholic priest. And it is again felony (by yet another law) for a Presbyterian

minister and a Nonconformist minister to celebrate a marriage which may be lawfully celebrated by a

clergyman of the Established Church. An odd state of things. Foreigners might possibly think it a scandalous

state of things. In this country we don't appear to mind it. Returning to the present case, the results stand thus:

Mr. Vanborough is a single man; Mrs. Vanborough is a single woman; their child is illegitimate, and the

priest, Ambrose Redman, is liable to be tried, and punished, as a felon, for marrying them."

Thus far not a word had escaped the master of the house. He sat with his lips fast closed and his eyes riveted

"Am I to understand," he asked, "that the advice you wanted from me related to this?"

"You mean to tell me that, foreseeing the present interview and the result to which it might lead, you felt any

doubt as to the course you were bound to take? Am I really to understand that you hesitate to set this dreadful

mistake right, and to make the woman who is your wife in the sight of Heaven your wife in the sight of the

"If you choose to put it in that light," said Mr. Vanborough; "if you won't consider"

"I won't trouble you to explain yourself," he said. "I prefer to leave the house. You have given me a lesson,

Sir, which I shall not forget. I find that one man may have known another from the days when they were both

boys, and may have seen nothing but the false surface of him in all that time. I am ashamed of having ever

"That is a curiously hotheaded man," remarked Mr. Delamayn. "If you will allow me, I think I'll change my

Mr. Vanborough rose to his feet without replying, and took a turn in the room impatiently. Scoundrel as he

wasin intention, if not yet in actthe loss of the oldest friend he had in the world staggered him for the

"This is an awkward business, Delamayn," he said. "What would you advise me to do?"

"I decline to advise you," he answered. "I take no responsibility, beyond the responsibility of stating the law

Mr. Vanborough sat down again at the table, to consider the alternative of asserting or not asserting his

freedom from the marriage tie. He had not had much time thus far for turning the matter over in his mind. But

for his residence on the Continent the question of the flaw in his marriage might no doubt have been raised

long since. As things were, the question had only taken its rise in a chance conversation with Mr. Delamayn

For some minutes the lawyer sat silent, sipping his wine, and the husband sat silent, thinking his own

thoughts. The first change that came over the scene was produced by the appearance of a servant in the

The man was a wellbred English servant. In other words, a human machine, doing its duty impenetrably

"The lady desired me to present her apologies, Sir. I was to tell you she was much pressed for time. This was

the last house on the house agent's list, and her coachman is stupid about finding his way in strange places."

Mr. Delamayn interferedpartly in the interests of his client, partly in the interests of propriety.

"You attach some importance, I think, to letting this house as soon as possible?" he said.

"Is it wiseon account of a momentary annoyanceto lose an opportunity of laying your hand on a

"Just as you please. I don't wish to interfere. I only wish to sayin case you are thinking of my convenience

"Very well. Let her in. Mind, if she comes here, she's only to look into the room, and go out again. If she

Mr. Delamayn interfered once more, in the interests, this time, of the lady of the house.

"Might it not be desirable," he suggested, to consult Mrs. Vanborough before you quite decide?"

"We can't send all over the grounds in search of her. Tell the housemaid, and show the lady in."

There was no answer. Mr. Vanborough had returned to the contemplation of the alternative between freeing

himself or not freeing himself from the marriage tie. One of his elbows was on the table, he bit fiercely at his

A sound of rustling silk made itself gently audible in the passage outside. The door opened, and the lady who

She was tall and elegant; beautifully dressed, in the happiest combination of simplicity and splendor. A light

summer veil hung over her face. She lifted it, and made her apologies for disturbing the gentlemen over their

"Pray accept my excuses for this intrusion. I am ashamed to disturb you. One look at the room will be quite

Thus far she had addressed Mr. Delamayn, who happened to be nearest to her. Looking round the room her

eye fell on Mr. Vanborough. She started, with a loud exclamation of astonishment. "You!" she said. "Good

He barely looked at her while she spoke. His eyes wandered guiltily toward the window which led into the

garden. The situation was a terrible oneequally terrible if his wife discovered Lady Jane, or if Lady Jane

discovered his wife. For the moment nobody was visible on the lawn. There was time, if the chance only

offeredthere was time for him to get the visitor out of the house. The visitor, innocent of all knowledge of

"I believe in mesmerism for the first time," she said. "This is an instance of magnetic sympathy, Mr.

Vanborough. An invalid friend of mine wants a furnished house at Hampstead. I undertake to find one for

her, and the day I select to make the discovery is the day you select for dining with a friend. A last house at

Hampstead is left on my listand in that house I meet you. Astonishing!" She turned to Mr. Delamayn. "I

presume I am addressing the owner of the house?" Before a word could be said by either of the gentlemen she

noticed the garden. "What pretty grounds! Do I see a lady in the garden? I hope I have not driven her away."

She looked round, and appealed to Mr. Vanborough. "Your friend's wife?" she asked, and, on this occasion,

Mrs. Vanborough was not only visiblebut audiblein the garden; giving her orders to one of the

outofdoor servants with the tone and manner which proclaimed the mistress of the house. Suppose he said,

"She is not my friend's wife?" Female curiosity would inevitably put the next question, "Who is she?"

Suppose he invented an explanation? The explanation would take time, and time would give his wife an

opportunity of discovering Lady Jane. Seeing all these considerations in one breathless moment, Mr.

Vanborough took the shortest and the boldest way out of the difficulty. He answered silently by an

affirmative inclination of the head, which dextrously turned Mrs. Vanborough into to Mrs. Delamayn without

Mastering in a moment his first natural astonishment at the liberty taken with him, Mr. Delamayn drew the

inevitable conclusion that there was something wrong, and that there was an attempt (not to be permitted for a

moment) to mix him up in it. He advanced, resolute to contradict his client, to his client's own face.

"Might I ask one question? Is the aspect south? Of course it is! I ought to see by the sun that the aspect is

south. These and the other two are, I suppose, the only rooms on the groundfloor? And is it quiet? Of course

it's quiet! A charming house. Far more likely to suit my friend than any I have seen yet. Will you give me the

refusal of it till tomorrow?" There she stopped for breath, and gave Mr. Delamayn his first opportunity of

Mr. Vanboroughpassing close behind him and whispering as he passedstopped the lawyer before he

At the same moment (still supposing that Mr. Delamayn was the master of the house) Lady Jane returned to

"You appear to feel some hesitation," she said. "Do you want a reference?" She smiled satirically, and

Mr. Vanborough, stealing step by step nearer to the windowintent, come what might of it, on keeping his

wife out of the roomneither heeded nor heard her. Lady Jane followed him, and tapped him briskly on the

"Am I in the way?" she asked, addressing her husband, after one steady look at Lady Jane. "This lady appears

to be an old friend of yours." There was a tone of sarcasm in that allusion to the parasol, which might develop

Lady Jane was not in the least disconcerted. She had her double privilege of familiarity with the men whom

she likedher privilege as a woman of high rank, and her privilege as a young widow. She bowed to Mrs.

Vanborough, with all the highlyfinished politeness of the order to which she belonged.

Mrs. Vanborough returned the bow coldlyentered the room firstand then answered, "Yes."

"Present me!" she said, submitting resignedly to the formalities of the middle classes.

Mr. Vanborough obeyed, without looking at his wife, and without mentioning his wife's name.

"Lady Jane Parnell," he said, passing over the introduction as rapidly as possible. "Let me see you to your

carriage," he added, offering his arm. "I will take care that you have the refusal of the house. You may trust it

No! Lady Jane was accustomed to leave a favorable impression behind her wherever she went. It was a habit

with her to be charming (in widely different ways) to both sexes. The social experience of the upper classes

is, in England, an experience of universal welcome. Lady Jane declined to leave until she had thawed the icy

"I must repeat my apologies," she said to Mrs. Vanborough, "for coming at this inconvenient time. My

intrusion appears to have sadly disturbed the two gentlemen. Mr. Vanborough looks as if he wished me a

hundred miles away. And as for your husband" She stopped and glanced toward Mr. Delamayn. "Pardon

me for speaking in that familiar way. I have not the pleasure of knowing your husband's name."

In speechless amazement Mrs. Vanborough's eyes followed the direction of Lady Jane's eyesand rested on

Mr. Delamayn, resolutely waiting his opportunity to speak, seized it once moreand held it this time.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "There is some misapprehension here, for which I am in no way responsible. I

It was Lady Jane's turn to be astonished. She looked at the lawyer. Useless! Mr. Delamayn had set himself

rightMr. Delamayn declined to interfere further. He silently took a chair at the other end of the room. Lady

"Whatever the mistake may be," she said, "you are responsible for it. You certainly told me this lady was

The inbred pride of the great lady began to appear behind the thin outer veil of politeness that covered it.

"I will speak louder if you wish it," she said. "Mr. Vanborough told me you were that gentleman's wife."

Mrs. Vanborough's indignation was suspended for the moment in dread, as she saw the passion and the terror

Lady Jane began to perceive, what the lawyer had discovered some minutes previouslythat there was

something wrong in the villa at Hampstead. The lady of the house was a lady in an anomalous position of

some kind. And as the house, to all appearance, belonged to Mr. Vanborough's friend, Mr. Vanborough's

friend must (in spite of his recent disclaimer) be in some way responsible for it. Arriving, naturally enough, at

this erroneous conclusion, Lady Jane's eyes rested for an instant on Mrs. Vanborough with a finely

contemptuous expression of inquiry which would have roused the spirit of the tamest woman in existence.

The implied insult stung the wife's sensitive nature to the quick. She turned once more to her husbandthis

Lady Jane was equal to the emergency. The manner in which she wrapped herself up in her own virtue,

without the slightest pretension on the one hand, and without the slightest compromise on the other, was a

"Mr. Vanborough," she said, "you offered to take me to my carriage just now. I begin to understand that I had

"Stop!" said Mrs. Vanborough, "your ladyship's looks are looks of contempt; your ladyship's words can bear

but one interpretation. I am innocently involved in some vile deception which I don't understand. But this I do

knowI won't submit to be insulted in my own house. After what you have just said I forbid my husband to

Lady Jane looked at Mr. Vanboroughat Mr. Vanborough, whom she loved; whom she had honestly

believed to be a single man; whom she had suspected, up to that moment, of nothing worse than of trying to

screen the frailties of his friend. She dropped her highlybred tone; she lost her highlybred manners. The

sense of her injury (if this was true), the pang of her jealousy (if that woman was his wife), stripped the

human nature in her bare of all disguises, raised the angry color in her cheeks, and struck the angry fire out of

"If you can tell the truth, Sir," she said, haughtily, "be so good as to tell it now. Have you been falsely

presenting yourself to the worldfalsely presenting yourself to mein the character and with the

"Do you hear her? do you see her?" cri ed Mrs. Vanborough, appealing to her husband, in her turn. She

suddenly drew back from him, shuddering from head to foot. "He hesitates!" she said to herself, faintly.

Mrs. Vanborough staggered back. She caught at the white curtains of the window to save herself from falling,

and tore them. She looked at her husband, with the torn curtain clenched fast in her hand. She asked herself,

Lady Jane drew a deep breath of relief. He was not married! He was only a profligate single man. A

profligate single man is shockingbut reclaimable. It is possible to blame him severely, and to insist on his

reformation in the most uncompromising terms. It is also possible to forgive him, and marry him. Lady Jane

took the necessary position under the circumstances with perfect tact. She inflicted reproof in the present

"I have made a very painful discovery," she said, gravely, to Mr. Vanborough. "It rests with you to persuade

She accompanied the last words by a farewell look which aroused Mrs. Vanborough to frenzy. She sprang

Mr. Vanborough came forward to interfere. His wife eyed him with a terrible look, and turned from him with

a terrible contempt. "That man has lied!" she said. "In justice to myself, I insist on proving it!" She struck a

bell on a table near her. The servant came in. "Fetch my writingdesk out of the next room." She

waitedwith her back turned on her husband, with her eyes fixed on Lady Jane. Defenseless and alone she

stood on the wreck of her married life, superior to the husband's treachery, the lawyer's indifference, and her

rival's contempt. At that dreadful moment her beauty shone out again with a gleam of its old glory. The grand

woman, who in the old stage days had held thousands breathless over the mimic woes of the scene, stood

there grander than ever, in her own woe, and held the three people who looked at her breathless till she spoke

The servant came in with the desk. She took out a paper and handed it to Lady Jane.

"I was a singer on the stage," she said, "when I was a single woman. The slander to which such women are

exposed doubted my marriage. I provided myself with the paper in your hand. It speaks for itself. Even the

Lady Jane examined the paper. It was a marriagecertificate. She turned deadly pale, and beckoned to Mr.

Mr. Vanborough looked back into the far corner of the room, in which the lawyer sat, impenetrably waiting

Mr. Delamayn rose and complied with the request. Mr. Vanborough addressed himself to Lady Jane.

"I beg to refer you to my man of business. He is not interested in deceiving you."

"Am I required simply to speak to the fact?" asked Mr. Delamayn. "I decline to do more."

Listening intently to that interchange of question and answer, Mrs. Vanborough advanced a step in silence.

The high courage that had sustained her against outrage which had openly declared itself shrank under the

sense of something coming which she had not foreseen. A nameless dread throbbed at her heart and crept

After a moment's hesitation Lady Jane looked round at Mrs. Vanborough, standing silent at her

sidelooked, and started back in terror. "Take me away!" she cried, shrinking from the ghastly face that

confronted her with the fixed stare of agony in the great, glittering eyes. "Take me away! That woman will

Mr. Vanborough gave her his arm and led her to the door. There was dead silence in the room as he did it.

Step by step the wife's eyes followed them with the same dreadful stare, till the door closed and shut them

out. The lawyer, left alone with the disowned and deserted woman, put the useless certificate silently on the

table. She looked from him to the paper, and dropped, without a cry to warn him, without an effort to save

He lifted her from the floor and placed her on the sofa, and waited to see if Mr. Vanborough would come

back. Looking at the beautiful facestill beautiful, even in the swoonhe owned it was hard on her. Yes! in

But the law justified it. There was no doubt in this case. The law justified it.

The trampling of horses and the grating of wheels sounded outside. Lady Jane's carriage was driving away.

Would the husband come back? (See what a thing habit is! Even Mr. Delamayn still mechanically thought of

It was not wise to make a scandal in the house. It was not desirable (on his own sole responsibility) to let the

servants see what had happened. Still, there she lay senseless. The cool evening air came in through the open

window and lifted the light ribbons in her lace cap, lifted the little lock of hair that had broken loose and

drooped over her neck. Still, there she laythe wife who had loved him, the mother of his childthere she

At the same moment the quiet of the summer evening was once more disturbed. He held his hand suspended

over the bell. The noise outside came nearer. It was again the trampling of horses and the grating of wheels.

There was a loud ring at the bella quick opening of the housedoora rustling of a woman's dress in the

passage. The door of the room opened, and the woman appearedalone. Not Lady Jane. A strangerolder,

years older, than Lady Jane. A plain woman, perhaps, at other times. A woman almost beautiful now, with

She saw the figure on the sofa. She ran to it with a crya cry of recognition and a cry of terror in one. She

dropped on her kneesand laid that helpless head on her bosom, and kissed, with a sister's kisses, that cold,

Yes! After all the years that had passed since the parting in the cabin of the ship, it was thus the two

ADVANCING from time past to time present, the Prologue leaves the date last attained (the summer of

eighteen hundred and fiftyfive), and travels on through an interval of twelve yearstells who lived, who

died, who prospered, and who failed among the persons concerned in the tragedy at the Hampstead

villaand, this done, leaves the reader at the opening of THE STORY in the spring of eighteen hundred and

The record begins with a marriagethe marriage of Mr. Vanborough and Lady Jane Parnell.

In three months from the memorable day when his solicitor had informed him that he was a free man, Mr.

Vanborough possessed the wife he desired, to grace the head of his table and to push his fortunes in the

worldthe Legislature of Great Britain being the humble servant of his treachery, and the respectable

He entered Parliament. He gave (thanks to his wife) six of the grandest dinners, and two of the most crowded

balls of the season. He made a successful first speech in the House of Commons. He endowed a church in a

poor neighborhood. He wrote an article which attracted attention in a quarterly review. He discovered,

denounced, and remedied a crying abuse in the administration of a public charity. He r eceived (thanks once

more to his wife) a member of the Royal family among the visitors at his country house in the autumn recess.

These were his triumphs, and this his rate of progress on the way to the peerage, during the first year of his

There was but one more favor that Fortune could confer on her spoiled childand Fortune bestowed it.

There was a spot on Mr. Vanborough's past life as long as the woman lived whom he had disowned and

deserted. At the end of the first year Death took herand the spot was rubbed out.

She had met the merciless injury inflicted on her with a rare patience, with an admirable courage. It is due to

Mr. Vanborough to admit that he broke her heart, with the strictest attention to propriety. He offered (through

his lawyer ) a handsome provision for her and for her child. It was rejected, without an instant's hesitation.

She repudiated his moneyshe repudiated his name. By the name which she had borne in her maiden

daysthe name which she had made illustrious in her Artthe mother and daughter were known to all who

There was no false pride in the resolute attitude which she thus assumed after her husband had forsaken her.

Mrs. Silvester (as she was now called) gratefully accepted for herself, and for Miss Silvester, the assistance of

the dear old friend who had found her again in her affliction, and who remained faithful to her to the end.

They lived with Lady Lundie until the mother was strong enough to carry out the plan of life which she had

arranged for the future, and to earn her bread as a teacher of singing. To all appearance she rallied, and

became herself again, in a few months' time. She was making her way; she was winning sympathy,

confidence, and respect every wherewhen she sank suddenly at the opening of her new life. Nobody could

account for it. The doctors themselves were divided in opinion. Scientifically speaking, there was no reason

why she should die. It was a mere figure of speechin no degree satisfactory to any reasonable mindto

say, as Lady Lundie said, that she had got her deathblow on the day when her husband deserted her. The

one thing certain was the factaccount for it as you might. In spite of science (which meant little), in spite of

In the latter part of her illness her mind gave way. The friend of her old schooldays, sitting at the bedside,

heard her talking as if she thought herself back again in the cabin of the ship. The poor soul found the tone,

almost the look, that had been lost for so many yearsthe tone of the past time when the two girls had gone

their different ways in the world. She said, "we will meet, darling, with all the old love between us," just as

she had said almost a lifetime since. Before the end her mind rallied. She surprised the doctor and the nurse

by begging them gently to leave the room. When they had gone she looked at Lady Lundie, and woke, as it

The dying woman paused, and thought for a little. A sudden trembling seized her.

"She is not called by her father's nameshe is called by mine. She is Anne Silvester as I was. Blanche! Will

The question was put with the laboring breath, with the heavy accents which tell that death is near. It chilled

"Don't think that!" she cried, horrorstruck. "For God's sake, don't think that!"

The wildness began to appear again in Anne Silvester's eyes. She made feebly impatient signs with her hands.

She lay in her friend's arms; she looked up in her friend's face; she went back wildly to her fear for her child.

"Don't bring her up like Me! She must be a governessshe must get her bread. Don't let her act! don't let her

sing! don't let her go on the stage!" She stoppedher voice suddenly recovered its sweetness of toneshe

smiled faintlyshe said the old girlish words once more, in the old girlish way, "Vow it, Blanche!" Lady

Lundie kissed her, and answered, as she had answered when they parted in the ship, "I vow it, Anne!"

The head sank, never to be lifted more. The last look of life flickered in the filmy eyes and went out. For a

moment afterward her lips moved. Lady Lundie put her ear close to them, and heard the dreadful question

reiterated, in the same dreadful words: "She is Anne Silvesteras I was. Will she end like Me?"

Five years passedand the lives of the three men who had sat at the dinnertable in the Hampstead villa

Mr. Kendrew; Mr. Delamayn; Mr. Vanborough. Let the order in which they are here named be the order in

How the husband's friend marked his sense of the husband's treachery has been told already. How he felt the

death of the deserted wife is still left to tell. Report, which sees the inmost hearts of men, and delights in

turning them outward to the public view, had always declared that Mr. Kendrew's life had its secret, and that

the secret was a hopeless passion for the beautiful woman who had married his friend. Not a hint ever

dropped to any living soul, not a word ever spoken to the woman herself, could be produced in proof of the

assertion while the woman lived. When she died Report started up again more confidently than ever, and

He attended the funeralthough he was no relation. He took a few blades of grass from the turf with which

they covered her gravewhen he thought that nobody was looking at him. He disappeared from his club. He

traveled. He came back. He admitted that he was weary of England. He applied for, and obtained, an

appointment in one of the colonies. To what conclusion did all this point? Was it not plain that his usual

course of life had lost its attraction for him, when the object of his infatuation had ceased to exist? It might

have been soguesses less likely have been made at the truth, and have hit the mark. It is, at any rate, certain

that he left England, never to return again. Another man lost, Report said. Add to that, a man in ten

The rising solicitor was struck off the roll, at his own requestand entered himself as a student at one of the

Inns of Court. For three years nothing was known of him but that he was reading hard and keeping his terms.

He was called to the Bar. His late partners in the firm knew they could trust him, and put business into his

hands. In two years he made himself a position in Court. At the end of the two years he made himself a

position out of Court. He appeared as "Junior" in "a famous case," in which the honor of a great family, and

the title to a great estate were concerned. His "Senior" fell ill on the eve of the trial. He conducted the case for

the defendant and won it. The defendant said, "What can I do for you?" Mr. Delamayn answered, "Put me

into Parliament." Being a landed gentleman, the defendant had only to issue the necessary ordersand

They sat on the same bench, and sided with the same party. Mr. Delamayn noticed that Mr. Vanborough was

looking old and worn and gray. He put a few questions to a wellinformed person. The wellinformed person

shook his head. Mr. Vanborough was rich; Mr. Vanborough was wellconnected (through his wife); Mr. Van

borough was a sound man in every sense of the word; butnobody liked him. He had done very well the

first year, and there it had ended. He was undeniably clever, but he produced a disagreeable impression in the

House. He gave splendid entertainments, but he wasn't popular in society. His party respected him, but when

they had any thing to give they passed him over. He had a temper of his own, if the truth must be told; and

with nothing against himon the contrary, with every thing in his favorhe didn't make friends. A soured

Five years more passed, dating from the day when the deserted wife was laid in her grave. It was now the

On a certain day in that year two special items of news appeared in the papersthe news of an elevation to

Getting on well at the Bar, Mr. Delamayn got on better still in Parliament. He became one of the prominent

men in the House. Spoke clearly, sensibly, and modestly, and was never too long. Held the House, where

men of higher abilities "bored" it. The chiefs of his party said openly, "We must do something for

Delamayn," The opportunity offered, and the chiefs kept their word. Their SolicitorGeneral was advanced a

step, and they put Delamayn in his place. There was an outcry on the part of the older members of the Bar.

The Ministry answered, "We want a man who is listened to in the House, and we have got him." The papers

supported the new nomination. A great debate came off, and the new SolicitorGeneral justified the Ministry

and the papers. His enemies said, derisively, "He will be Lord Chancellor in a year or two!" His friends made

genial jokes in his domestic circle, which pointed to the same conclusion. They warned his two sons, Julius

and Geoffrey (then at college), to be careful what acquaintances they made, as they might find themselves the

sons of a lord at a moment's notice. It really began to look like something of the sort. Always rising, Mr.

Delamayn rose next to be AttorneyGeneral. About the same timeso true it is that "nothing succeeds like

success"a childless relative died and left him a fortune. In the summer of 'sixtysix a Chief Judgeship fell

vacant. The Ministry had made a previous appointment which had been universally unpopular. They saw

their way to supplying the place of their AttorneyGeneral, and they offered the judicial appointment to Mr.

Delamayn. He preferred remaining in the House of Commons, and refused to accept it. The Ministry declined

to take No for an answer. They whispered confidentially, " Will you take it with a peerage?" Mr. Delamayn

consulted his wife, and took it with a peerage. The London Gazette announced him to the world as Baron

Holchester of Holchester. And the friends of the family rubbed their hands and said, "What did we tell you?

And where was Mr. Vanborough all this time? Exactly where we left him five years since.

He was as rich, or richer, than ever. He was as wellconnected as ever. He was as ambitious as ever. But

there it ended. He stood still in the House; he stood still in society; nobody liked him; he made no friends. It

was all the old story over again, with this difference, that the soured man was sourer; the gray head, grayer;

and the irritable temper more unendurable than ever. His wife had her rooms in the house and he had his, and

the confidential servants took care that they never met on the stairs. They had no children. They only saw

each other at their grand dinners and balls. People ate at their table, and danced on their floor, and compared

notes afterward, and said how dull it was. Step by step the man who had once been Mr. Vanborough's lawyer

rose, till the peerage received him, and he could rise no longer; while Mr. Vanborough, on the lower round of

the ladder, looked up, and noted it, with no more chance (rich as he was and wellconnected as he was) of

The man's career was ended; and on the day when the nomination of the new peer was announced, the man

He laid the newspaper aside without making any remark, and went out. His carriage set him down, where the

green fields still remain, on the northwest of London, near the footpath which leads to Hampstead. He

walked alone to the villa where he had once lived with the woman whom he had so cruelly wronged. New

houses had risen round it, part of the old garden had been sold and built on. After a moment's hesitation he

went to the gate and rang the bell. He gave the servant his card. The servant's master knew the name as the

name of a man of great wealth, and of a Member of Parliament. He asked politely to what fortunate

circumstance he owed the honor of that visit. Mr. Vanborough answered, briefly and simply, "I once lived

here; I have associations with the place with which it is not necessary for me to trouble you. Will you excuse

what must seem to you a very strange request? I should like to see the diningroom again, if there is no

The "strange requests" of rich men are of the nature of "privileged communications," for this excellent

reason, that they are sure not to be requests for money. Mr. Vanborough was shown into the diningroom.

He walked straight to a certain spot on the carpet, not far from the window that led into the garden, and nearly

opposite the door. On that spot he stood silently, with his head on his breastthinking. Was it there he had

seen her for the last time, on the day when he left the room forever? Yes; it was there. After a minute or so he

roused himself, but in a dreamy, absent manner. He said it was a pretty place, and expressed his thanks, and

looked back before the door closed, and then went his way again. His carriage picked him up where it had set

him down. He drove to the residence of the new Lord Holchester, and left a card for him. Then he went

home. Arrived at his house, his secretary reminded him that he had an appointment in ten minutes' time. He

thanked the secretary in the same dreamy, absent manner in which he had thanked the owner of the villa, and

went into his dressingroom. The person with whom he had made the appointment came, and the secretary

sent the valet up stairs to knock at the door. There was no answer. On trying the lock it proved to be turned

inside. They broke open the door, and saw him lying on the sofa. They went close to lookand found him

Drawing fast to its close, the Prologue reverts to the two girlsand tells, in a few words, how the years

Lady Lundie more than redeemed the solemn pledge that she had given to her friend. Preserved from every

temptation which might lure her into a longing to follow her mother's career; trained for a teacher's life, with

all the arts and all the advantages that money could procure, Anne's first and only essays as a governess were

made, under Lady Lundie's own roof, on Lady Lundie's own child. The difference in the ages of the

girlsseven yearsthe love between them, which seemed, as time went on, to grow with their growth,

favored the trial of the experiment. In the double relation of teacher and friend to little Blanche, the girlhood

of Anne Silvester the younger passed safely, happily, uneventfully, in the modest sanctuary of home. Who

could imagine a contrast more complete than the contrast between her early life and her mother's? Who could

see any thing but a deathbed delusion in the terrible question which had tortured the mother's last moments:

But two events of importance occurred in the quiet family circle during the lapse of years which is now under

review. In eighteen hundred and fiftyeight the household was enlivened by the arrival of Sir Thomas

Lundie. In eighteen hundred and sixtyfive the household was broken up by the return of Sir Thomas to

Lady Lundie's health had b een failing for some time previously. The medical men, consulted on the case,

agreed that a seavoyage was the one change needful to restore their patient's wasted strengthexactly at the

time, as it happened, when Sir Thomas was due again in India. For his wife's sake, he agreed to defer his

return, by taking the seavoyage with her. The one difficulty to get over was the difficulty of leaving Blanche

Appealed to on this point, the doctors had declared that at Blanche's critical time of life they could not

sanction her going to India with her mother. At the same time, near and dear relatives came forward, who

were ready and anxious to give Blanche and her governess a homeSir Thomas, on his side, engaging to

bring his wife back in a year and a half, or, at most, in two years' time. Assailed in all directions, Lady

Lundie's natural unwillingness to leave the girls was overruled. She consented to the partingwith a mind

At the last moment she drew Anne Silvester on one side, out of hearing of the rest. Anne was then a young

"My dear," she said, simply, "I must tell you what I can not tell Sir Thomas, and what I am afraid to tell

Blanche. I am going away, with a mind that misgives me. I am persuaded I shall not live to return to England;

and, when I am dead, I believe my husband will marry again. Years ago your mother was uneasy, on her

deathbed, about your future. I am uneasy, now, about Blanche's future. I promised my dear dead friend that

you should be like my own child to meand it quieted her mind. Quiet my mind, Anne, before I go.

Whatever happens in years to comepromise me to be always, what you are now, a sister to Blanche."

She held out her hand for the last time. With a full heart Anne Silvester kissed it, and gave the promise.

In two months from that time one of the forebodings which had weighed on Lady Lundie's mind was

In a year more the second misgiving was confirmed. Sir Thomas Lundie married again. He brought his

Time, in the new household, promised to pass as quietly as in the old. Sir Thomas remembered and respected

the trust which his first wife had placed in Anne. The second Lady Lundie, wisely guiding her conduct in this

matter by the conduct of her husband, left things as she found them in the new house. At the opening of

eighteen hundred and sixtyseven the relations between Anne and Blanche were relations of sisterly

sympathy and sisterly love. The prospect in the future was as fair as a prospect could be.

At this date, of the persons concerned in the tragedy of twelve years since at the Hampstead villa, three were

dead; and one was selfexiled in a foreign land. There now remained living Anne and Blanche, who had been

children at the time; and the rising solicitor who had discovered the flaw in the Irish marriageonce Mr.

IN the spring of the year eighteen hundred and sixtyeight there lived, in a certain county of North Britain,

The Owls inhabited a decayed and deserted summerhouse. The summerhouse stood in grounds attached to

The situation of Windygates had been skillfully chosen in that part of the county where the fertile lowlands

first begin to merge into the mountain region beyond. The mansionhouse was intelligently laid out, and

luxuriously furnished. The stables offered a model for ventilation and space; and the gardens and grounds

Possessed of these advantages, at starting, Windygates, nevertheless, went the road to ruin in due course of

time. The curse of litigation fell on house and lands. For more than ten years an interminable lawsuit coiled

itself closer and closer round the place, sequestering it from human habitation, and even from human

approach. The mansion was closed. The garden became a wilderness of weeds. The summerhouse was

choked up by creeping plants; and the appearance of the creepers was followed by the appearance of the birds

For years the Owls lived undisturbed on the property which they had acquired by the oldest of all existing

rightsthe right of taking. Throughout the day they sat peaceful and solemn, with closed eyes, in the cool

darkness shed round them by the ivy. With the twilight they roused themselves softly to the business of life.

In sage and silent companionship of two, they went flying, noiseless, along the quiet lanes in search of a

meal. At one time they would beat a field like a setter dog, and drop down in an instant on a mouse unaware

of them. At another timemoving spectral over the black surface of the waterthey would try the lake for a

change, and catch a perch as they had caught the mouse. Their catholic digestions were equally tolerant of a

rat or an insect. And there were moments, proud moments, in their lives, when they were clever enough to

snatch a small bird at roost off his perch. On those occasions the sense of superiority which the large bird

feels every where over the small, warmed their cool blood, and set them screeching cheerfully in the stillness

So, for years, the Owls slept their happy sleep by day, and found their comfortable meal when darkness fell.

They had come, with the creepers, into possession of the summerhouse. Consequently, the creepers were a

part of the constitution of the summerhouse. And consequently the Owls were the guardians of the

Constitution. There are some human owls who reason as they did, and who are, in this respectas also in

The constitution of the summerhouse had lasted until the spring of the year eighteen hundred and

sixtyeight, when the unhallowed footsteps of innovation passed that way; and the venerable privileges of the

Two featherless beings appeared, uninvited, at the door of the summerhouse, surveyed the constitutional

creepers, and said, "These must come down"looked around at the horrid light of noonday, and said, "That

must come in"went away, thereupon, and were heard, in the distance, agreeing together, "Tomorrow it

And the Owls said, "Have we honored the summerhouse by occupying it all these yearsand is the horrid

light of noonday to be let in on us at last? My lords and gentlemen, the Constitution is destroyed!"

They passed a resolution to that effect, as is the manner of their kind. And then they shut their eyes again, and

The same night, on their way to the fields, they observed with dismay a light in one of the windows of the

It meant, in the first place, that the lawsuit was over at last. It meant, in the second place that the owner of

Windygates, wanting money, had decided on letting the property. It meant, in the third place, that the

property had found a tenant, and was to be renovated immediately out of doors and in. The Owls shrieked as

they flapped along the lanes in the darkness, And that night they struck at a mouseand missed him.

The next morning, the Owlsfast asleep in charge of the Constitutionwere roused by voices of featherless

beings all round them. They opened their eyes, under protest, and saw instruments of destruction attacking

the creepers. Now in one direction, and now in another, those instruments let in on the summerhouse the

horrid light of day. But the Owls were equal to the occasion. They ruffled their feathers, and cried, "No

surrender!" The featherless beings plied their work cheerfully, and answered, "Reform!" The creepers were

torn down this way and that. The horrid daylight poured in brighter and brighter. The Owls had barely time to

pass a new resolution, namely, "That we do stand by the Constitution," when a ray of the outer sunlight

flashed into their eyes, and sent them flying headlong to the nearest shade. There they sat winking, while the

summerhouse was cleared of the rank growth that had choked it up, while the rotten woodwork was

renewed, while all the murky place was purified with air and light. And when the world saw it, and said,

"Now we shall do!" the Owls shut their eyes in pious remembrance of the darkness, and answered, "My lords

Who was responsible for the reform of the summerhouse? The new tenant at Windygates was responsible.

In the spring of eighteen hundred and sixtyeight the summerhouse had been the dismal dwellingplace of a

pair of owls. In the autumn of the same year the summerhouse was the lively gatheringplace of a crowd of

ladies and gentlemen, assembled at a lawn partythe guests of the tenant who had taken Windygates.

The sceneat the opening of the partywas as pleasant to look at as light and beauty and movement could

Inside the summerhouse the butterflybrightness of the women in their summer dresses shone radiant out of

the gloom shed round it by the dreary modern clothing of the men. Outside the summerhouse, seen through

three arched openings, the cool green prospect of a lawn led away, in the distance, to flowerbeds and

shrubberies, and, farther still, disclosed, through a break in the trees, a grand stone house which closed the

They were half of them laughing, they were all of them talkingthe comfortable hum of their voices was at

its loudest; the cheery pealing of the laughter was soaring to its highest noteswhen one dominant voice,

rising clear and shrill above all the rest, called imperatively for silence. The moment after, a young lady

stepped into the vacant space in front of the summerhouse, and surveyed the throng of guests as a general in

She was young, she was pretty, she was plump, she was fair. She was not the least embarrassed by her

prominent position. She was dressed in the height of the fashion. A hat, like a cheeseplate, was tilted over

her forehead. A balloon of light brown hair soared, fully inflated, from the crown of her head. A cataract of

beads poured over her bosom. A pair of cockchafers in enamel (frightfully like the living originals) hung at

her ears. Her scanty skirts shone splendid with the blue of heaven. Her ankles twinkled in striped stockings.

Her shoes were of the sort called "Watteau." And her heels were of the height at which men shudder, and ask

themselves (in contemplating an otherwise lovable woman), "Can this charming person straighten her

The young lady thus presenting herself to the general view was Miss Blanche Lundieonce the little rosy

Blanche whom the Prologue has introduced to the reader. Age, at the present time, eighteen. Position,

excellent. Money, certain. Temper, quick. Disposition, variable. In a word, a child of the modern timewith

the merits of the age we live in, and the failings of the age we live inand a substance of sincerity and truth

"Now then, good people," cried Miss Blanche, "silence, if you please! We are going to choose sides at

Upon this, a second lady among the company assumed a position of prominence, and answered the young

person who had just spoken with a look of mild reproof, and in a tone of benevolent protest.

The second lady was tall, and solid, and fiveandthirty. She presented to the general observation a cruel

aquiline nose, an obstinate straight chin, magnificent dark hair and eyes, a serene splendor of fawncolored

apparel, and a lazy grace of movement which was attractive at first sight, but inexpressibly monotonous and

wearisome on a longer acquaintance. This was Lady Lundie the Second, now the widow (after four months

only of married life) of Sir Thomas Lundie, deceased. In other words, the stepmother of Blanche, and the

"My dear," said Lady Lundie, "words have their meaningseven on a young lady's lips. Do you call

"You don't call it pleasure, surely?" said a gravely ironical voice in the background of the summerhouse.

The ranks of the visitors parted before the last speaker, and disclosed to view, in the midst of that modern

The manner of this gentleman was distinguished by a pliant grace and courtesy unknown to the present

generation. The attire of this gentleman was composed of a manyfolded white cravat, a closebuttoned blue

dresscoat, and nankeen trousers with gaiters to match, ridiculous to the present generation. The talk of this

gentleman ran in an easy flowrevealing an independent habit of mind, and exhibiting a carefullypolished

capacity for satirical retortdreaded and disliked by the present generation. Personally, he was little and

wiry and slimwith a bright white head, and sparkling black eyes, and a wry twist of humor curling sharply

at the corners of his lips. At his lower extremities, he exhibited the deformity which is popularly known as "a

clubfoot." But he carried his lameness, as he carried his years, gayly. He was socially celebrated for his

ivory cane, with a snuffbox artfully let into the knob at the topand he was socially dreaded for a hatred of

modern institutions, which expressed itself in season and out of season, and which always showed the same,

fatal knack of hitting smartly on the weakest place. Such was Sir Patrick Lundie; brother of the late baronet,

Miss Blanchetaking no notice of her stepmother's reproof, or of her uncle's commentary on itpointed

to a table on which croquet mallets and balls were laid ready, and recalled the attention of the company to the

"I head one side, ladies and gentlemen," she resumed. "And Lady Lundie heads the other. We choose our

players turn and turn about. Mamma has the advantage of me in years. So mamma chooses first."

With a look at her stepdaughterwhich, being interpreted, meant, "I would send you back to the nursery,

miss, if I could!"Lady Lundie turned and ran her eye over her guests. She had evidently made up her mind,

At that there was another parting among the crowd. To us (who know her), it was Anne who now appeared.

Strangers, who saw her for the first time, saw a lady in the prime of her lifea lady plainly dressed in

unornamented whitewho advanced slowly, and confronted the mistress of the house.

A certain proportionand not a small oneof the men at the lawnparty had been brought there by friends

who were privileged to introduce them. The moment she appeared every one of those men suddenly became

"That's a very charming woman," whispered one of the strangers at the house to one of the friends of the

The moment during which the question was put and answered was also the moment which brought Lady

There are certain women whose influence over men is an unfathomable mystery to observers of their own

sex. The governess was one of those women. She had inherited the charm, but not the beauty, of her unhappy

mother. Judge her by the standard set up in the illustrated giftbooks and the printshop windowsand the

sentence must have inevitably followed. "She has not a single good feature in her face."

There was nothing individually remarkable about Miss Silvester, seen in a state of repose. She was of the

average height. She was as well made as most women. In hair and complexion she was neither light nor dark,

but provokingly neutral just between the two. Worse even than this, there were positive defects in her face,

which it was impossible to deny. A nervous contraction at one corner of her mouth drew up the lips out of the

symmetrically right line, when, they moved. A nervous uncertainty in the eye on the same side narrowly

escaped presenting the deformity of a "cast." And yet, with these indisputable drawbacks, here was one of

those womenthe formidable fewwho have the hearts of men and the peace of families at their mercy.

She movedand there was some subtle charm, Sir, in the movement, that made you look back, and suspend

your conversation with your friend, and watch her silently while she walked. She sat by you and talked to

youand behold, a sensitive something passed into that little twist at the corner of the mouth, and into that

nervous uncertainty in the soft gray eye, which turned defect into beautywhich enchained your

senseswhich made your nerves thrill if she touched you by accident, and set your heart beating if you

looked at the same book with her, and felt her breath on your face. All this, let it be well understood, only

If you saw her with the eyes of a woman, the results were of quite another kind. In that case you merely

turned to your nearest female friend, and said, with unaffected pity for the other sex, "What can the men see

The eyes of the lady of the house and the eyes of the governess met, with marked distrust on either side. Few

people could have failed to see what the stranger and the friend had noticed alikethat there was something

Lady Lundie assumed an extreme surprise which passed the limits of goodbreeding.

"Oh, indeed?" she rejoined, sharply. "Considering that we are all here for the purpose of playing, that seems

A flush appeared on the delicate paleness of Miss Silvester's face. But she did her duty as a woman and a

"Nothing is the matter," she answered. "I am not very well this morning. But I will play if you wish it."

Miss Silvester turned aside toward one of the entrances into the summerhouse. She waited for events,

looking out over the lawn, with a visible inner disturbance, marked over the bosom by the rise and fall of her

In some preliminary uncertainty as to her choice she looked about among the guests, and caught the eye of a

gentleman in the front ranks. He stood side by side with Sir Patricka striking representative of the school

that is among usas Sir Patrick was a striking representative of the school that has passed away.

The modern gentleman was young and florid, tall and strong. The parting of his curly Saxon locks began in

the center of his forehead, traveled over the top of his head, and ended, rigidlycentral, at the ruddy nape of

his neck. His features were as perfectly regular and as perfectly unintelligent as human features can be. His

expression preserved an immovable composure wonderful to behold. The muscles of his brawny arms

showed through the sleeves of his light summer coat. He was deep in the chest, thin in the flanks, firm on the

legsin two words a magnificent human animal, wrought up to the highest pitch of physical development,

from head to foot. This was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayncommonly called "the honorable;" and meriting that

distinction in more ways than one. He was honorable, in the first place, as being the son (second son) of that

oncerising solicitor, who was now Lord Holchester. He was honorable, in the second place, as having won

the highest popular distinction which the educational system of modern England can bestowhe had pulled

the strokeoar in a University boatrace. Add to this, that nobody had ever seen him read any thing but a

newspaper, and that nobody had ever known him to be backward in settling a betand the picture of this

Blanche's eye naturally rested on him. Blanche's voice naturally picked him out as the first player on her side.

As the name passed her lips the flush on Miss Silvester's face died away, and a deadly paleness took its place.

She made a movement to leave the summerhousechecked herself abruptlyand laid one hand on the

back of a rustic seat at her side. A gentleman behind her, looking at the hand, saw it clench itself so suddenly

and so fiercely that the glove on it split. The gentleman made a mental memorandum, and registered Miss

Meanwhile Mr. Delamayn, by a strange coincidence, took exactly the same course which Miss Silvester had

"Thanks very much," he said. "Could you additionally honor me by choosing somebody else? It's not in my

Fifty years ago such an answer as this, addressed to a lady, would have been considered inexcusably

impertinent. The social code of the present time hailed it as something frankly amusing. The company

"Can't we interest you in any thing but severe muscular exertion, Mr. Delamayn?" she asked, sharply. "Must

you always be pulling in a boatrace, or flying over a high jump? If you had a mind, you would want to relax

The shafts of Miss Lundie's bitter wit glided off Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn like water off a duck's back.

"Just as you please," he said, with stolid goodhumor. "Don't be offended. I came here with ladiesand they

wouldn't let me smoke. I miss my smoke. I thought I'd slip away a bit and have it. All right! I'll play."

"Oh! smoke by all means!" retorted Blanche. "I shall choose somebody else. I won't have you!"

The honorable young gentleman looked unaffectedly relieved. The petulant young lady turned her back on

A dark young manwith a face burned gipsybrown by the sun; with something in his look and manner

suggestive of a roving life, and perhaps of a familiar acquaintance with the seaadvanced shyly, and said, in

Blanche's face broke prettily into a charming smile. Judging from appearances, the dark young man had a

He ventured a step nearer. "I am coming back," he pleaded, "the day after tomorrow."

"Might you? Then I will teach you!" She turned, bright and rosy, to her stepmother. "I choose Mr. Arnold

Here, again, there appeared to be something in a name unknown to celebrity, which nevertheless produced its

effectnot, this time, on Miss Silvester, but on Sir Patrick. He looked at Mr. Brinkworth with a sudden

interest and curiosity. If the lady of the house had not claimed his attention at the moment he would evidently

But it was Lady Lundie's turn to choose a second player on her side. Her brotherinlaw was a person of

some importance; and she had her own motives for ingratiating herself with the head of the family. She

"Mamma!" cried Blanche. "What can you be thinking of? Sir Patrick won't play. Croquet wasn't discovered in

Sir Patrick never allowed "his time" to be made the subject of disparaging remarks by the younger generation

"In my time, my dear," he said to his niece, "people were expected to bring some agreeable quality with them

to social meetings of this sort. In your time you have dispensed with all that. Here," remarked the old

gentleman, taking up a croquet mallet from the table near him, "is one of the qualifications for success in

modern society. And here," he added, taking up a ball, "is another. Very good. Live and learn. I'll play! I'll

"Lady Lundie," he answered, "you read me like a book." To the astonishment of all persons present under

forty he emphasized those words by laying his hand on his heart, and quoting poetry. "I may say with

Lady Lundie looked unaffectedly shocked. Mr. Delamayn went a step farther. He interfered on the

spotwith the air of a man who feels himself imperatively called upon to perform a public duty.

Sir Patrick wheeled round with the help of his ivory cane, and looked Mr. Delamayn hard in the face.

The Honorable Geoffrey answered, modestly, "I should say I did. I have rowed three races with him, and we

"Then let me tell you, Sir," he said, "that you trained with a man who died nearly two hundred years ago."

"What does this old gentleman mean?" he asked. "I am speaking of Tom Dryden, of Corpus. Every body in

"I am speaking," echoed Sir Patrick, "of John Dryden the Poet. Apparently, every body in the University does

"Give you my word of honor, I never heard of him before in my life! Don't be angry, Sir. I'm not offended

with you." He smiled, and took out his brierwood pipe. "Got a light?" he asked, in the friendliest possible

While this little skirmish was proceeding Lady Lundie and her stepdaughter had organized the game; and

the company, players and spectators, were beginning to move toward the lawn. Sir Patrick stopped his niece

Blanche issued her orders immediately. Mr. Brinkworth was sentenced to stay with Sir Patrick until she

During the exercise of this act of authority a circumstance occurred at the other end of the summerhouse.

Taking advantage of the confusion caused by the general movement to the lawn, Miss Silvester suddenly

The governess's sensitive lips trembled, with fear or with anger, it was hard to say which.

Mr. Delamayn knitted his handsome eyebrows as he looked after her, and then left the summerhouse in his

turn. The rosegarden at the back of the building was solitary for the moment. He took out his pipe and hid

himself among the roses. The smoke came from his mouth in hot and hasty puffs. He was usually the gentlest

of mastersto his pipe. When he hurried that confidential servant, it was a sure sign of disturbance in the

BUT two persons were now left in the summerhouseArnold Brinkworth and Sir Patrick Lundie.

"Mr. Brinkworth," said the old gentleman, "I have had no opportunity of speaking to you before this; and (as

I hear that you are to leave us, today) I may find no opportunity at a later time. I want to introduce myself.

Your father was one of my dearest friendslet me make a friend of your father's son."

Arnold recognized it directly. "Oh, Sir Patrick!" he said, warmly, "if my poor father had only taken your

"He would have thought twice before he gambled away his fortune on the turf; and he might have been alive

here among us, instead of dying an exile in a foreign land," said Sir Patrick, finishing the sentence which the

other had begun. "No more of that! Let's talk of something else. Lady Lundie wrote to me about you the other

day. She told me your aunt was dead, and had left you heir to her property in Scotland. Is that true?It

is?I congratulate you with all my heart. Why are you visiting here, instead of looking after your house and

lands? Oh! it's only threeandtwenty miles from this; and you're going to look after it today, by the next

train? Quite right. Andwhat? what?coming back again the day after tomorrow? Why should you come

back? Some special attraction here, I suppose? I hope it's the right sort of attraction. You're very

youngyou're exposed to all sorts of temptations. Have you got a solid foundation of good sense at the

bottom of you? It is not inherited from your poor father, if you have. You must have been a mere boy when

he ruined his children's prospects. How have you lived from that time to this? What were you doing when

The question was a searching one. Arnold answered it, without the slightest hesitation; speaking with an

"I was a boy at Eton, Sir," he said, "when my father's losses ruined him. I had to leave school, and get my

own living; and I have got it, in a roughish way, from that time to this. In plain English, I have followed the

"In plainer English still, you met adversity like a brave lad, and you have fairly earned the good luck that has

fallen to you," rejoined Sir Patrick. "Give me your handI have taken a liking to you. You're not like the

other young fellows of the present time. I shall call you 'Arnold.' You mus'n't return the compliment and call

me 'Patrick,' mindI'm too old to be treated in that way. Well, and how do you get on here? What sort of a

"Those are extraordinary questions for you to put to me," he said. "You talk, Sir, as if you were a stranger

Sir Patrick touched a spring in the knob of his ivory cane. A little gold lid flew up, and disclosed the

snuffbox hidden inside. He took a pinch, and chuckled satirically over some passing thought, which he did

"I talk as if I was a stranger here, do I?" he resumed. "That's exactly what I am. Lady Lundie and I

correspond on excellent terms; but we run in different grooves, and we see each other as seldom as possible.

My story," continued the pleasant old man, with a charming frankness which leveled all differences of age

and rank between Arnold and himself, "is not entirely unlike yours; though I am old enough to be your

grandfather. I was getting my living, in my way (as a crusty old Scotch lawyer), when my brother married

again. His death, without leaving a son by either of his wives, gave me a lift in the world, like you. Here I am

(to my own sincere regret) the present baronet. Yes, to my sincere regret! All sorts of responsibilities which I

never bargained for are thrust on my shou lders. I am the head of the family; I am my niece's guardian; I am

compelled to appear at this lawnpartyand (between ourselves) I am as completely out of my element as a

man can be. Not a single familiar face meets me among all these fine people. Do you know any body here?"

"I have one friend at Windygates," said Arnold. "He came here this morning, like you. Geoffrey Delamayn."

As he made the reply, Miss Silvester appeared at the entrance to the summerhouse. A shadow of annoyance

passed over her face when she saw that the place was occupied. She vanished, unnoticed, and glided back to

Sir Patrick looked at the son of his old friend, with every appearance of being disappointed in the young man

"I beg your pardon, Sirthere's nothing surprising in it," he returned. "We were schoolfellows at Eton, in

the old times. And I have met Geoffrey since, when he was yachting, and when I was with my ship. Geoffrey

saved my life, Sir Patrick," he added, his voice rising, and his eyes brightening with honest admiration of his

friend. "But for him, I should have been drowned in a boataccident. Isn't that a good reason for his being a

"The value I set on my life?" repeated Arnold. "I set a high value on it, of course!"

"Which you will repay one of these days, with interestif I know any thing of human nature," answered Sir

He said the words with the emphasis of strong conviction. They were barely spoken when Mr. Delamayn

appeared (exactly as Miss Silvester had appeared) at the entrance to the summerhouse. He, too, vanished,

unnoticedlike Miss Silvester again. But there the parallel stopped. The Honorable Geoffrey's expression,

on discovering the place to be occupied, was, unmistakably an expression of relief.

Arnold drew the right inference, this time, from Sir Patrick's language and Sir Patrick's tones. He eagerly took

"You said that rather bitterly, Sir," he remarked. "What has Geoffrey done to offend you?"

"He presumes to existthat's what he has done," retorted Sir Patrick. "Don't stare! I am speaking generally.

Your friend is the model young Briton of the present time. I don't like the model young Briton. I don't see the

sense of crowing over him as a superb national production, because he is big and strong, and drinks beer with

impunity, and takes a cold shower bath all the year round. There is far too much glorification in England, just

now, of the mere physical qualities which an Englishman shares with the savage and the brute. And the ill

results are beginning to show themselves already! We are readier than we ever were to practice all that is

rough in our national customs, and to excuse all that is violent and brutish in our national acts. Read the

popular booksattend the popular amusements; and you will find at the bottom of them all a lessening

regard for the gentler graces of civilized life, and a growing admiration for the virtues of the aboriginal

Arnold listened in blank amazement. He had been the innocent means of relieving Sir Patrick's mind of an

accumulation of social protest, unprovided with an issue for some time past. " How hot you are over it, Sir!"

Sir Patrick instantly recovered himself. The genuine wonder expressed in the young man's face was

"Almost as hot," he said, "as if I was cheering at a boatrace, or wrangling over a bettingbookeh? Ah, we

were so easily heated when I was a young man! Let's change the subject. I know nothing to the prejudice of

your friend, Mr. Delamayn. It's the cant of the day," cried Sir Patrick, relapsing again, "to take these

physicallywholesome men for granted as being morallywholesome men into the bargain. Time will show

whether the cant of the day is right.So you are actually coming back to Lady Lundie's after a mere flying

visit to your own property? I repeat, that is a most extraordinary proceeding on the part of a landed gentleman

Before Arnold could reply Blanche called to him from the lawn. His color rose, and he turned eagerly to go

out. Sir Patrick nodded his head with the air of a man who had been answered to his own entire satisfaction.

Arnold's life at sea had left him singularly ignorant of the ways of the world on shore. Instead of taking the

joke, he looked confused. A deeper tinge of color reddened his dark cheeks. "I didn't say so," he answered, a

Sir Patrick lifted two of his white, wrinkled old fingers, and goodhumoredly patted the young sailor on the

The little gold lid in the knob of the ivory cane flew up, and the old gentleman rewarded himself for that neat

retort with a pinch of snuff. At the same moment Blanche made her appearance on the scene.

"Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "I shall want you directly. Uncle, it's your turn to play."

"Bless my soul!" cried Sir Patrick, "I forgot the game." He looked about him, and saw his mallet and ball left

waiting on the table. "Where are the modern substitutes for conversation? Oh, here they are!" He bowled the

ball out before him on to the lawn, and tucked the mallet, as if it was an umbrella, under his arm. "Who was

the first mistaken person," he said to himself, as he briskly hobbled out, "who discovered that human life was

a serious thing? Here am I, with one foot in the grave; and the most serious question before me at the present

Among the personal privileges which Nature has accorded to women, there are surely none more enviable

than their privilege of always looking their best when they look at the man they love. When Blanche's eyes

turned on Arnold after her uncle had gone out, not even the hideous fashionable disfigurements of the inflated

"chignon" and the tilted hat could destroy the triple charm of youth, beauty, and tenderness beaming in her

face. Arnold looked at herand remembered, as he had never remembered yet, that he was going by the next

train, and that he was leaving her in the society of more than one admiring man of his own age. The

experience of a whole fortnight passed under the same roof with her had proved Blanche to be the most

charming girl in existence. It was possible that she might not be mortally offended with him if he told her so.

But who shall presume to measure the abyss that lies between the Intention and the Execution? Arnold's

resolution to speak was as firmly settled as a resolution could be. And what came of it? Alas for human

"You don't look quite at your ease, Mr. Brinkworth," said Blanche. "What has Sir Patrick been saying to you?

"Sir Patrick is a terrible old man," he answered. "Just before you came in he discovered one of my secrets by

only looking in my face." He paused, rallied his courage, pushed on at all hazards, and came headlong to the

Blanche instantly understood him. With time at her disposal, she would have taken him lightly in hand, and

led him, by fine gradations, to the object in view. But in two minutes or less it would be Arnold's turn to play.

"He is going to make me an offer," thought Blanche; "and he has about a minute to do it in. He shall do it!"

"What!" she exclaimed, " do you think the gift of discovery runs in the family?"

He had only to finish the sentence, and the thing was done. But the tender passion perversely delights in

raising obstacles to itself. A sudden timidity seized on Arnold exactly at the wrong moment. He stopped

Blanche heard from the lawn the blow of the mallet on the ball, and the laughter of the company at some

blunder of Sir Patrick's. The precious seconds were slipping away. She could have boxed Arnold on both ears

Arnold made another plunge. He answered: "You would see that I want a little encouragement."

Blanche looked back over her shoulder. The summerhouse stood on an eminence, approached by steps. The

players on the lawn beneath were audible, but not visible. Any one of them might appear, unexpectedly, at a

moment's notice. Blanche listened. There was no sound of approaching footstepsthere was a general hush,

and then another bang of the mallet on the ball and then a clapping of hands. Sir Patrick was a privileged

person. He had been allowed, in all probability, to try again; and he was succeeding at the second effort. This

"Consider yourself encouraged," she whispered; and instantly added, with the ineradicable female instinct of

It was all overthe words were spokenhe had got her by the hand. Again the perversity of the tender

passion showed itself more strongly than ever. The confession which Blanche had been longing to hear, had

barely escaped her lover's lips before Blanche protested against it! She struggled to release her hand. She

Who was to resist such wooing as this?when you were privately fond of him yourself, remember, and

when you were certain to be interrupted in another moment! Blanche left off struggling, and looked up at her

"Did you learn this method of making love in the merchantservice?" she inquired, saucily.

"I'll go back to the merchantservice," he said, "if I have made you angry with me."

"Anger, Mr. Brinkworth, is one of the bad passions," she answered, demurely. "A young lady who has been

There was a sudden cry from the players on the lawna cry for "Mr. Brinkworth." Blanche tried to push him

"Say something to encourage me before I go," he pleaded. "One word will do. Say, Yes."

Blanche shook her head. Now she had got him, the temptation to tease him was irresistible.

"Quite impossible!" she rejoined. "If you want any more encouragement, you must speak to my uncle."

There was another cry for "Mr. Brinkworth." Blanche made another effort to push him out.

She had both hands on his shouldersher face was close to hisshe was simply irresistible. Arnold caught

her round the waist and kissed her. Needless to tell him to get through the hoop. He had surely got through it

already! Blanche was speechless. Arnold's last effort in the art of courtship had taken away her breath. Before

she could recover herself a sound of approaching footsteps became plainly audible. Arnold gave her a last

She sank on the nearest chair, and closed her eyes in a flutter of delicious confusion.

The footsteps ascending to the summerhouse came nearer. Blanche opened her eyes, and saw Anne

Silvester, standing alone, looking at her. She sprang to her feet, and threw her arms impulsively round Anne's

"You don't know what has happened," she whispered. "Wish me joy, darling. He has said the words. He is

All the sisterly love and sisterly confidence of many years was expressed in that embrace, and in the tone in

which the words were spoken. The hearts of the mothers, in the past time, could hardly have been closer to

each otheras it seemedthan the hearts of the daughters were now. And yet, if Blanche had looked up in

Anne's face at that moment, she must have seen that Anne's mind was far away from her little lovestory.

"Happy?" repeated Blanche "Mind! this is strictly between ourselves. I am ready to jump out of my skin for

joy. I love him! I love him! I love him!" she cried, with a childish pleasure in repeating the words. They were

echoed by a heavy sigh. Blanche instantly looked up into Anne's face. "What's the matter?" she asked, with a

"There is something the matter," she said. "Is it money?" she added, after a moment's consideration. "Bills to

Blanche drew back, a little hurt. Anne was keeping her at a distance for the first time in Blanche's experience

"I tell you all my secrets," she said. "Why are you keeping a secret from me? Do you know that you have

been looking anxious and out of spirits for some time past? Perhaps you don't like Mr. Brinkworth? No? you

do like him? Is it my marrying, then? I believe it is! You fancy we shall be parted, you goose? As if I could

do without you! Of course, when I am married to Arnold, you will come and live with us. That's quite

Anne drew herself suddenly, almost roughly, away from Blanche, and pointed out to the steps.

The person coming was Arnold. It was Blanche's turn to play, and he had volunteered to fetch her.

Blanche's attentioneasily enough distracted on other occasionsremained steadily fixed on Anne.

"You are not yourself," she said, "and I must know the reason of it. I will wait till tonight; and then you will

tell me, when you come into my room. Don't look like that! You shall tell me. And there's a kiss for you in

Left alone, Anne Silvester walked slowly to the inner and darker part of the summerhouse. A glass, in a

carved wooden frame, was fixed against one of the side walls. She stopped and looked into itlooked,

"Is the time coming," she said, "when even Blanche will see what I am in my face?"

She turned aside from the glass. With a sudden cry of despair she flung up her arms and laid them heavily

against the wall, and rested her head on them with her back to the light. At the same moment a man's figure

appearedstanding dark in the flood of sunshine at the entrance to the summerhouse. The man was

He advanced a few steps, and stopped. Absorbed in herself, Anne failed to hear him. She never moved.

"I have come, as you made a point of it," he said, sullenly. "But, mind you, it isn't safe."

At the sound of his voice, Anne turned toward him. A change of expression appeared in her face, as she

slowly advanced from the back of the summerhouse, which revealed a likeness to her moth er, not

perceivable at other times. As the mother had looked, in bygone days, at the man who had disowned her, so

the daughter looked at Geoffrey Delamaynwith the same terrible composure, and the same terrible

"Mr. Delamayn," she answered, "you are one of the fortunate people of this world. You are a nobleman's son.

You are a handsome man. You are popular at your college. You are free of the best houses in England. Are

He startedopened his lips to speakchecked himselfand made an uneasy attempt to laugh it off.

"Keep my temper?" she repeated. "Do you of all men expect me to control myself? What a memory yours

must be! Have you forgotten the time when I was fool enough to think you were fond of me? and mad

He persisted in trying to laugh it off. "Mad is a strongish word to use, Miss Silvester!"

"Mad is the right word! I look back at my own infatuationand I can't account for it; I can't understand

myself. What was there in you," she asked, with an outbreak of contemptuous surprise, "to attract such a

His inexhaustible goodnature was proof even against this. He put his hands in his pockets, and said, "I'm

She turned away from him. The frank brutality of the answer had not offended her. It forced her, cruelly

forced her, to remember that she had nobody but herself to blame for the position in which she stood at that

moment. She was unwilling to let him see how the remembrance hurt herthat was all. A sad, sad story; but

it must be told. In her mother's time she had been the sweetest, the most lovable of children. In later days,

under the care of her mother's friend, her girlhood had passed so harmlessly and so happilyit seemed as if

the sleeping passions might sleep forever! She had lived on to the prime of her womanhoodand then, when

the treasure of her life was at its richest, in one fatal moment she had flung it away on the man in whose

She had seen him under other aspects than the aspect which he presented now. She had seen him, the hero of

the riverrace, the first and foremost man in a trial of strength and skill which had roused the enthusiasm of

all England. She had seen him, the central object of the interest of a nation; the idol of the popular worship

and the popular applause. His were the arms whose muscle was celebrated in the newspapers. He was first

among the heroes hailed by ten thousand roaring throats as the pride and flower of England. A woman, in an

atmosphere of redhot enthusiasm, witnesses the apotheosis of Physical Strength. Is it reasonableis it

justto expect her to ask herself, in cold blood, What (morally and intellectually) is all this worth?and

that, when the man who is the object of the apotheosis, notices her, is presented to her, finds her to his taste,

and singles her out from the rest? No. While humanity is humanity, the woman is not utterly without excuse.

Look at her as she stands there, tortured by the knowledge of her own secretthe hideous secret which she is

hiding from the innocent girl, whom she loves with a sister's love. Look at her, bowed down under a

humiliation which is unutterable in words. She has seen him below the surfacenow, when it is too late. She

rates him at his true valuenow, when her reputation is at his mercy. Ask her the question: What was there

to love in a man who can speak to you as that man has spoken, who can treat you as that man is treating you

now? you so clever, so cultivated, so refinedwhat, in Heaven's name, could you see in him? Ask her that,

and she will have no answer to give. She will not even remind you that he was once your model of manly

beauty, toothat you waved your handkerchief till you could wave it no longer, when he took his seat, with

the others, in the boatthat your heart was like to jump out of your bosom, on that later occasion when he

leaped the last hurdle at the footrace, and won it by a head. In the bitterness of her remorse, she will not

even seek for that excuse for herself. Is there no atoning suffering to be seen here? Do your sympathies

shrink from such a character as this? Follow her, good friends of virtue, on the pilgrimage that leads, by steep

and thorny ways, to the purer atmosphere and the nobler life. Your fellowcreature, who has sinned and has

repentedyou have the authority of the Divine Teacher for itis your fellowcreature, purified and

ennobled. A joy among the angels of heavenoh, my brothers and sisters of the earth, have I not laid my

There was a moment of silence in the summerhouse. The cheerful tumult of the lawnparty was pleasantly

audible from the distance. Outside, the hum of voices, the laughter of girls, the thump of the croquetmallet

against the ball. Inside, nothing but a woman forcing back the bitter tears of sorrow and shameand a man

She roused herself. She was her mother's daughter; and she had a spark of her mother's spirit. Her life

depended on the issue of that interview. It was uselesswithout father or brother to take her partto lose

the last chance of appealing to him. She dashed away the tearstime enough to cry, is time easily found in a

woman's existenceshe dashed away the tears, and spoke to him again, more gently than she had spoken

"You have been three weeks, Geoffrey, at your brother Julius's place, not ten miles from here; and you have

never once ridden over to see me. You would not have come today, if I had not written to you to insist on it.

He was still silent. It was not in human endurance to bear his contempt. The warning of a coming outbreak

began to show itself in her face. He met it, beforehand, with an impenetrable front. Feeling nervous about the

interview, while he was waiting in the rosegardennow that he stood committed to it, he was in full

possession of himself. He was composed enough to remember that he had not put his pipe in its

casecomposed enough to set that little matter right before other matters went any farther. He took the case

She struck the pipe out of his hand at a blow. If she had had the strength she would have struck him down

"How dare you use me in this way?" she burst out, vehemently. "Your conduct is infamous. Defend it if you

He made no attempt to defend it. He looked, with an expression of genuine anxiety, at the fallen pipe. It was

beautifully coloredit had cost him ten shillings. "I'll pick up my pipe first," he said. His face brightened

pleasantlyhe looked handsomer than everas he examined the precious object, and put it back in the case.

"All right," he said to himself. "She hasn't broken it." His attitude as he looked at her again, was the

perfection of easy gracethe grace that attends on cultivated strength in a state of repose. "I put it to your

own commonsense, " he said, in the most reasonable manner, "what's the good of bullying me? You don't

want them to hear you, out on the lawn theredo you? You women are all alike. There's no beating a little

There he waited, expecting her to speak. She waited, on her side, and forced him to go on.

"Look here," he said, "there's no need to quarrel, you know. I don't want to break my promise; but what can I

do ? I'm not the eldest son. I'm dependent on my father for every farthing I have; and I'm on bad terms with

him already. Can't you see it yourself? You're a lady, and all that, I know. But you're only a governess. It's

your interest as well as mine to wait till my father has provided for me. Here it is in a nutshell: if I marry

She suddenly changed her tone. The savage element in humanitylet the modern optimists who doubt its

existence look at any uncultivated man (no matter how muscular), woman (no matter how beautiful), or child

(no matter how young)began to show itself furtively in his eyes, to utter itself furtively in his voice. Was

he to blame for the manner in which he looked at her and spoke to her? Not he! What had there been in the

training of his life (at school or at college) to soften and subdue the savage element in him? About as much as

there had been in the training of his ancestors (without the school or the college) five hundred years since.

It was plain that one of them must give way. The woman had the most at stakeand the woman set the

"Don't be hard on me," she pleaded. "I don't mean to be hard on you. My temper gets the better of me. You

know my temper. I am sorry I forgot myself. Geoffrey, my whole future is in your hands. Will you do me

"Haven't you a word to say to me? No answer? Not even a look?" She waited a moment more. A marked

change came over her. She turned slowly to leave the summerhouse. "I am sorry to have troubled you, Mr.

He looked at her. There was a tone in her voice that he had never heard before. There was a light in her eyes

that he had never seen in them before. Suddenly and fiercely he reached out his hand, and stopped her.

She answered, looking him straight in the face, "Where many a miserable woman has gone before me. Out of

He drew her nearer to him, and eyed her closely. Even his intelligence discovered that he had brought her to

With that conviction in him, he pushed one of the chairs in the summerhouse to her with his foot, and signed

to her to take it. "Sit down!" he said, roughly. She had frightened himand fear comes seldom to men of his

type. They feel it, when it does come, with an angry distrust; they grow loud and brutal, in instinctive protest

against it. "Sit down!" he repeated. She obeyed him. "Haven't you got a word to say to me?" he asked, with

an oath. No! there she sat, immovable, reckless how it endedas only women can be, when women's minds

are made up. He took a turn in the summerhouse and came back, and struck his hand angrily on the rail of

He took another turn. There was nothing for it but to give way on his side, or run the risk of something

Without asking a single question, without making objections, she answered him, speaking as bluntly as he

"What!" he cried out, suspiciously. "You have thought of it yourself, have you?"

She answered haughtily; insisting on the respect which is due to womenthe respect which was doubly due

"Have you eyes?" she asked, vehemently. "Have you ears? Do you see how Lady Lundie looks at me? Do

you hear how Lady Lundie speaks to me? I am suspected by that woman. My shameful dismissal from this

house may be a question of a few hours." Her head sunk on her bosom; she wrung her clasped hands as they

rested on her lap. "And, oh, Blanche!" she moaned to herself, the tears gathering again, and falling, this time,

unchecked. "Blanche, who looks up to me! Blanche, who loves me! Blanche, who told me, in this very place,

that I was to live with her when she was married!" She started up from the chair; the tears dried suddenly; the

hard despair settled again, wan and white, on her face. "Let me go! What is death, compared to such a life as

is waiting for me?" She looked him over, in one disdainful glance from head to foot; her voice rose to its

loudest and firmest tones." Why, even you; would have the courage to die if you were in my place!"

He put her back by main force on the chair. In another moment they must have heard her, through all the

"Say what you want," he resumed, "and I'll do it. Only be reasonable. I can't marry you today."

"What nonsense you talk! The house and grounds are swarming with company. It can't be!"

"It can! I have been thinking about it ever since we came to this house. I have got something to propose to

The answer had been wrung from him. Still, it was the answer she wantedit opened the door to hope. The

instant he had consented to hear her her mind awakened to the serious necessity of averting discovery by any

third person who might stray idly into the summerhouse. She held up her hand for silence, and listened to

The dull thump of the croquetmallet against the ball was no longer to be heard. The game had stopped.

In a moment more she heard her own name called. An interval of another instant passed, and a familiar voice

"It's my turn to play," she said. "And Blanche is coming here to look for me. Wait there, and I'll stop her on

She went out at once. It was a critical moment. Discovery, which meant moralruin to the woman, meant

moneyruin to the man. Geoffrey had not exaggerated his position with his father. Lord Holchester had twice

paid his debts, and had declined to see him since. One more outrage on his father's rigid sense of propriety,

and he would be left out of the will as well as kept out of the house. He looked for a means of retreat, in case

there was no escaping unperceived by the front entrance. A doorintended for the use of servants, when

picnics and gipsy teaparties were given in the summerhousehad been made in the back wall. It opened

outward, and it was locked. With his strength it was easy to remove that obstacle. He put his shoulder to the

door. At the moment when he burst it open he felt a hand on his arm. Anne was behind him, alone.

"You may want it before long," she said, observing the open door, without expressing any surprise, "You

don't want it now. Another person will play for meI have told Blanche I am not well. Sit down. I have

secured a respite of five minutes, and I must make the most of it. In that time, or less, Lady Lundie's

She seated herself, and pointed to a second chair. He took itwith his eye on the closed door.

"You can marry me privately today," she answered. "Lis tenand I will tell you how!"

"One question, Geoffrey, before I say what I want to say. Lady Lundie has invited you to stay at Windygates.

Do you accept her invitation? or do you go back to your brother's in the evening?"

"I can't go back in the eveningthey've put a visitor into my room. I'm obliged to stay here. My brother has

done it on purpose. Julius helps me when I'm hard upand bullies me afterward. He has sent me here, on

duty for the family. Somebody must be civil to Lady Lundieand I'm the sacrifice."

She took him up at his last word. "Don't make the sacrifice," she said. "Apologize to Lady Lundie, and say

There was a double objection to that. If he left Lady Lundie's, he would fail to establish a future pecuniary

claim on his brother's indulgence. And if he left with Anne, the eyes of the world would see them, and the

"I don't mean that we shall leave together," she explained. "We will leave separatelyand I will go first."

"There will be a dance when the croquet is over. I don't danceand I shall not be missed. There will be time,

and opportunity to get to my own room. I shall leave a letter there for Lady Lundie, and a letter"her voice

trembled for a moment"and a letter for Blanche. Don't interrupt me! I have thought of this, as I have

thought of every thing else. The confession I shall make will be the truth in a few hours, if it's not the truth

now. My letters will say I am privately married, and called away unexpectedly to join my husband. There will

be a scandal in the house, I know. But there will be no excuse for sending after me, when I am under my

husband's protection. So far as you are personally concerned there are no discoveries to fearand nothing

which it is not perfectly safe and perfectly easy to do. Wait here an hour after I have gone to save

"Follow you?" interposed Geoffrey. "Where?" She drew her chair nearer to him, and whispered the next

A movement of natural impatience escaped herbut she controlled herself, and went on as quietly as before:

"The place I mean is the loneliest place in the neighborhood. You have no prying eyes to dread there. I have

picked it out expressly for that reason. It's away from the railway; it's away from the highroad: it's kept by a

"Decent, respectable Scotchwomen who keep inns," interposed Geoffrey, "don't cotton to young ladies who

It was a wellaimed objectionbut it missed the mark. A woman bent on her marriage is a woman who can

"I have provided for every thing," she said, "and I have provided for that. I shall tell the landlady I am on my

weddingtrip. I shall say my husband is sightseeing, on foot, among the mountains in the neighborhood"

"She is sure to disbelieve it, if you like. Let her! You have only to appear, and to ask for your wifeand

there is my story proved to be true! She may be the most suspicious woman living, as long as I am alone with

her. The moment you join me, you set her suspicions at rest. Leave me to do my part. My part is the hard one.

It was impossible to say No: she had fairly cut the ground from under his feet. He shifted his ground. Any

"I suppose you know how we are to be married?" he asked. "All I can say isI don't."

"You do!" she retorted. "You know that we are in Scotland. You know that there are neither forms,

ceremonies, nor delays in marriage, here. The plan I have proposed to you secures my being received at the

inn, and makes it easy and natural for you to join me there afterward. The rest is in our own hands. A man

and a woman who wish to be married (in Scotland) have only to secure the necessary witnesses and the thing

is done. If the landlady chooses to resent the deception practiced on her, after that, the landlady may do as she

pleases. We shall have gained our object in spite of herand, what is more, we shall have gained it without

"Don't lay it all on my shoulders," Geoffrey rejoined. "You women go headlong at every thing. Say we are

"Certainly. You will go back, of course, to your brother's house, as if nothing had happened."

"Haven't I already told you that I have thought of every thing? When I get to London I shall apply to some of

my mother's old friendsfriends of hers in the time when she was a musician. Every body tells me I have a

voiceif I had only cultivated it. I will cultivate it! I can live, and live respectably, as a concert singer. I have

saved money enough to support me, while I am learningand my mother's friends will help me, for her

So, in the new life that she was marking out, was she now unconsciously reflecting in herself the life of her

mother before her. Here was the mother's career as a public singer, chosen (in spite of all efforts to prevent it)

by the child! Here (though with other motives, and under other circumstances) was the mother's irregular

marriage in Ireland, on the point of being followed by the daughter's irregular marriage in Scotland! And

here, stranger still, was the man who was answerable for itthe son of the man who had found the flaw in

the Irish marriage, and had shown the way by which her mother was thrown on the world! "My Anne is my

second self. She is not called by her father's name; she is called by mine. She is Anne Silvester as I was. Will

she end like Me?"The answer to those wordsthe last words that had trembled on the dying mother's

lipswas coming fast. Through the chances and changes of many years, the future was pressing nearand

"Well?" she resumed. "Are you at the end of your objections? Can you give me a plain answer at last?"

"Suppose the witnesses at the inn happen to know me?" he said. "Suppose it comes to my father's ears in that

"Suppose you drive me to my death?" she retorted, starting to her feet. "Your father shall know the truth, in

He rose, on his side, and drew back from her. She followed him up. There was a clapping of hands, at the

same moment, on the lawn. Somebody had evidently made a brilliant stroke which promised to decide the

game. There was no security now that Blanche might not return again. There was every prospect, the game

being over, that Lady Lundie would be free. Anne brought the interview to its crisis, without wasting a

"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn," she said. "You have bargained for a private marriage, and I have consented. Are

He couldn't say "Yes," even then. But he said what was equivalent to it. He asked, savagely, "Where is the

She put her arm in his, and whispered, rapidly, "Pass the road on the right that leads to the railway. Follow

the path over the moor, and the sheeptrack up the hill. The first house you come to after that is the inn. You

He nodded his head, with a sullen frown, and took his pipe out of his pocket again.

"Let it alone this time," he said, meeting her eye. "My mind's upset. When a man's mind's upset, a man can't

"If I must give a name, I shall call myself Mrs., instead of Miss, Silvester. But I shall do my best to avoid

giving any name. And you will do your best to avoid making a mistake, by only asking for me as your wife.

"If you don't hear from me in half an hour from the time when I have left you, you may be sure I have got

Two voices, in conversation, were audible at the bottom of the stepsLady Lundie's voice and Sir Patrick's.

Anne pointed to the door in the back wall of the summerhouse. She had just pulled it to again, after

Geoffrey had passed through it, when Lady Lundie and Sir Patrick appeared at the top of the steps.

LADY LUNDIE pointed significantly to the door, and addressed herself to Sir Patrick's private ear.

Sir Patrick deliberately looked in the wrong direction, and (in the politest possible manner)

Lady Lundie advanced into the summerhouse. Suspicious hatred of the governess was written legibly in

every line of her face. Suspicious distrust of the governess's illness spoke plainly in every tone of her voice.

"You appear to be able to stand up. When I am ill, I am not so fortunate. I am obliged to lie down."'

"I will follow your example, Lady Lundie. If you will be so good as to excuse me, I will leave you, and lie

She could say no more. The interview with Geoffrey had worn her out; there was no spirit left in her to resist

the petty malice of the woman, after bearing, as she had borne it, the brutish indifference of the man. In

another moment the hysterical suffering which she was keeping down would have forced its way outward in

tears. Without waiting to know whether she was excused or not, without stopping to hear a word more, she

Lady Lundie's magnificent black eyes opened to their utmost width, and blazed with their most dazzling

brightness. She appealed to Sir Patrick, poised easily on his ivory cane, and looking out at the lawnparty, the

"After what I have already told you, Sir Patrick, of Miss Silvester's conduct, may I ask whether you consider

The old gentleman touched the spring in the knob of his cane, and answered, in the courtly manner of the old

"I consider no proceeding extraordinary Lady Lundie, which emanates from your enchanting sex."

He bowed, and took his pinch. With a little jaunty flourish of the hand, he dusted the stray grains of snuff off

his finger and thumb, and looked back again at the lawnparty, and became more absorbed in the diversions

Lady Lundie stood her ground, plainly determined to force a serious expression of opinion from her

brotherinlaw. Before she could speak again, Arnold and Blanche appeared together at the bottom of the

steps. "And when does the dancing begin?" inquired Sir Patrick, advancing to meet them, and looking as if he

"The very thing I was going to ask mamma," returned Blanche. "Is she in there with Anne? Is Anne better?"

"Miss Silvester has retired to her room. Miss Silvester persists in being ill. Have you noticed, Sir Patrick, that

Blanche's bright face flushed up. "If you think Anne a halfbred person, Lady Lundie, you stand alone in

Sir Patrick's interest in the first quadrille became almost painful to see. "Do tell me, my dear, when is the

"The sooner the better," interposed Lady Lundie; "before Blanche picks another quarrel with me on the

Blanche looked at her uncle. "Begin! begin! Don't lose time!" cried the ardent Sir Patrick, pointing toward the

house with his cane. "Certainly, uncle! Any thing that you wish!" With that parting shot at her stepmother,

Blanche withdrew. Arnold, who had thus far waited in silence at the foot of the steps, looked appealingly at

Sir Patrick. The train which was to take him to his newly inherited property would start in less than an hour;

and he had not presented himself to Blanche's guardian in the character of Blanche's suitor yet! Sir Patrick's

indifference to all domestic claims on himclaims of persons who loved, and claims of persons who hated,

it didn't matter whichremained perfectly unassailable. There he stood, poised on his cane, humming an old

Scotch air. And there was Lady Lundie, resolute not to leave him till he had seen the governess with her eyes

and judged the governess with her mind. She returned to the chargein spite of Sir Patrick, humming at the

top of the steps, and of Arnold, waiting at the bottom. (Her enemies said, "No wonder poor Sir Thomas died

in a few months after his marriage!" And, oh dear me, our enemies are sometimes right!)

"I must once more remind you, Sir Patrick, that I have serious reason to doubt whether Miss Silvester is a fit

companion for Blanche. My governess has something on her mind. She has fits of crying in private. She is up

and walking about her room when she ought to be asleep. She posts her own lettersand, she has lately been

excessively insolent to Me. There is something wrong. I must take some steps in the matterand it is only

"Sir Patrick, I beg you to observe that I am speaking seriously, and that I expect a serious reply."

"My good lady, ask me for any thing else and it is at your service. I have not made a serious reply since I

gave up practice at the Scottish Bar. At my age," added Sir Patrick, cunningly drifting into generalities,

"nothing is seriousexcept Indigestion. I say, with the philosopher, 'Life is a comedy to those who think,

and tragedy to those who feel.' " He took his sisterinlaw's hand, and kissed it. "Dear Lady Lundie, why

Lady Lundie, who had never "felt" in her life, appeared perversely determined to feel, on this occasion. She

"When you are next called on, Sir Patrick, to judge of Miss Silvester's conduct," she said, "unless I am

entirely mistaken, you will find yourself compelled to consider it as something beyond a joke." With those

words, she walked out of the summerhouseand so forwarded Arnold's interests by leaving Blanche's

It was an excellent opportunity. The guests were safe in the housethere was no interruption to be feared,

Arnold showed himself. Sir Patrick (perfectly undisturbed by Lady Lundie's parting speech) sat down in the

summerhouse, without noticing his young friend, and asked himself a question founded on profound

observation of the female sex. "Were there ever two women yet with a quarrel between them," thought the

old gentleman, "who didn't want to drag a man into it? Let them drag me in, if they can!"

Arnold advanced a step, and modestly announced himself. "I hope I am not in the way, Sir Patrick?"

"In the way? of course not! Bless my soul, how serious the boy looks! Are you going to appeal to me as the

It was exactly what Arnold was about to do. But it was plain that if he admitted it just then Sir Patrick (for

some unintelligible reason) would decline to listen to him. He answered cautiously, "I asked leave to consult

you in private, Sir; and you kindly said you would give me the opportunity before I left W indygates?"

"Ay! ay! to be sure. I remember. We were both engaged in the serious business of croquet at the timeand it

was doubtful which of us did that business most clumsily. Well, here is the opportunity; and here am I, with

all my worldly experience, at your service. I have only one caution to give you. Don't appeal to me as 'the

He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest. The wry twist of humor showed itself at the corners of his lips.

Arnold was at a loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece without reminding him of his

domestic responsibilities on the one hand, and without setting himself up as a target for the shafts of Sir

Patrick's wit on the other. In this difficulty, he committed a mistake at the outset. He hesitated.

"Don't hurry yourself," said Sir Patrick. "Collect your ideas. I can wait! I can wait!"

Arnold collected his ideasand committed a second mistake. He determined on feeling his way cautiously at

first. Under the circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with), it was perhaps the rashest

resolution at which he could possibly have arrivedit was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat

"You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your experience," he began. "I want a word of

"Suppose you take it sitting?" suggested Sir Patrick. "Get a chair." His sharp eyes followed Arnold with an

expression of malicious enjoyment. "Wants my advice?" he thought. "The young humbug wants nothing of

Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick's eye, with a wellfounded suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before

"I am only a young man," he went on, moving uneasily in his chair, "and I am beginning a new life"

"Any thing wrong with the chair?" asked Sir Patrick. "Begin your new life comfortably, and get another."

"My good fellow, I'm waiting to advise you. (I'm sure there's something wrong with that chair. Why be

"Please don't notice the chair, Sir Patrickyou put me out. I wantin shortperhaps it's a curious

"I can't say till I have heard it," remarked Sir Patrick. "However, we will admit it, for form's sake, if you like.

Say it's a curious question. Or let us express it more strongly, if that will help you. Say it's the most

extraordinary question that ever was put, since the beginning of the world, from one human being to another."

"That isn't a question," objected Sir Patrick. "It's an assertion. You say, I want to be married. And I say, Just

Arnold's head began to whirl. "Would you advise me to get married, Sir?" he said, piteously. "That's what I

"Oh! That's the object of the present interview, is it? Would I advise you to marry, eh?"

(Having caught the mouse by this time, the cat lifted his paw and let the luckless little creature breathe again.

Sir Patrick's manner suddenly freed itself from any slight signs of impatience which it might have hitherto

shown, and became as pleasantly easy and confidential as a manner could be. He touched the knob of his

cane, and helped himself, with infinite zest and enjoyment, to a pinch of snuff.)

"Would I advise you to marry?" repeated Sir Patrick. "Two courses are open to us, Mr. Arnold, in treating

that question. We may put it briefly, or we may put it at great length. I am for putting it briefly. What do you

"Very good again. When you were in the merchant service, did you ever have any experience in buying

Arnold stared. If any relation existed between that question and the subject in hand it was an impenetrable

relation to him. He answered, in unconcealed bewilderment, "Plenty of experience, Sir."

"I'm coming to the point," pursued Sir Patrick. "Don't be astonished. I'm coming to the point. What did you

"Marry, by all means!" cried Sir Patrick. "You are one of the few men who can try that experiment with a fair

The suddenness of the answer fairly took away Arnold's breath. There was something perfectly electric in the

"Then I'll show you," said Sir Patrick, crossing his legs, and setting in comfortably for a good talk "You go to

the teashop, and get your moist sugar. You take it on the understanding that it is moist sugar. But it isn't any

thing of the sort. It's a compound of adulterations made up to look like sugar. You shut your eyes to that

awkward fact, and swallow your adulterated mess in various articles of food; and you and your sugar get on

"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "You go to the marriageshop, and get a wife. You take her on the

understandinglet us saythat she has lovely yellow hair, that she has an exquisite complexion, that her

figure is the perfection of plumpness, and that she is just tall enough to carry the plumpness off. You bring

her home, and you discover that it's the old story of the sugar over again. Your wife is an adulterated article.

Her lovely yellow hair isdye. Her exquisite skin ispearl powder. Her plumpness ispadding. And three

inches of her height arein the bootmaker's heels. Shut your eyes, and swallow your adulterated wife as

you swallow your adulterated sugarand, I tell you again, you are one of the few men who can try the

With that he uncrossed his legs again, and looked hard at Arnold. Arnold read the lesson, at last, in the right

way. He gave up the hopeless attempt to circumvent Sir Patrick, andcome what might of itdashed at a

"That may be all very true, Sir, of some young ladies," he said. "There is one I know of, who is nearly related

This was coming to the point. Sir Patrick showed his approval of Arnold's frankness by coming to the point

"May I ask how you know that my niece is not an adulterated article, like the rest of them?"

Arnold's indignation loosened the last restraints that tied Arnold's tongue. He exploded in the three words

"I'm in earnest!" cried Arnold, reckless by this time of every consideration but one. "Put me to the test, Sir!

"Oh, very well. The test is easily put." He looked at Arnold, with the irrepressible humor twinkling merrily in

his eyes, and twitching sharply at the corners of his lips. "My niece has a beautiful complexion. Do you

"There's a beautiful sky above our heads," returned Arnold. "I believe in the sky."

"Do you?" retorted Sir Patrick. "You were evidently never caught in a shower. My niece has an immense

"My dear Arnold, you greatly underrate the existing resources of the trade in hair! Look into the

shopwindows. When you next go to London pray look into the showwindows. In the mean time, what do

"Oh, come! there can't be any doubt about that! Any man, with eyes in his head, can see it's the loveliest

"My good fellow, of course it is! The loveliest figure in the world is the commonest thing in the world. At a

rough guess, there are forty ladies at this lawnparty. Every one of them possesses a beautiful figure. It varies

in price; and when it's particularly seductive you may swear it comes from Paris. Why, how you stare! When

I asked you what you thought of my niece's figure, I meanthow much of it comes from Nature, and how

"If ever I have a son," he thought to himself, "that son shall go to sea!" He took Arnold's arm, as a

preliminary to putting an end to Arnold's suspense. "If I can be serious about any thing," he resumed, "it's

time to be serious with you. I am convinced of the sincerity of your attachment. All I know of you is in your

favor, and your birth and position are beyond dispute. If you have Blanche's consent, you have mine." Arnold

attempted to express his gratitude. Sir Patrick, declining to hear him, went on. "And remember this, in the

future. When you next want any thing that I can give you, ask for it plainly. Don't attempt to mystify me on

the next occasion, and I will promise, on my side, not to mystify you. There, that's understood. Now about

this journey of yours to see your estate. Property has its duties, Master Arnold, as well as its rights. The time

is fast coming when its rights will be disputed, if its duties are not performed. I have got a new interest in

you, and I mean to see that you do your duty. It's settled you are to leave Windygates today. Is it arranged

"Yes, Sir Patrick. Lady Lundie has kindly ordered the gig to take me to the station, in time for the next train."

"Very good. Mind you are ready. Stop a minute! you will have plenty of time to speak to Blanche when I

have done with you. You don't appear to me to be sufficiently anxious about seeing your own property."

"Never mind Blanche. Blanche is not business. They both begin with a Band that's the only connection

between them. I hear you have got one of the finest houses in this part of Scotland. How long are you going

"I have arranged (as I have already told you, Sir) to return to Windygates the day after tomorrow."

"What! Here is a man with a palace waiting to receive himand he is only going to stop one clear day in it!"

"I am not going to stop in it at all, Sir PatrickI am going to stay with the steward. I'm only wanted to be

present tomorrow at a dinner to my tenantsand, when that's over, there's nothing in the world to prevent

"Don't object to my coming back! pray don't, Sir Patrick! I'll promise to live in my new house when I have

got Blanche to live in it with me. If you won't mind, I'll go and tell her at once that it all belongs to her as

As he asked the question the shadow of some third person, advancing from the side of the summerhouse,

was thrown forward on the open sunlit space at the top of the steps. In a moment more the shadow was

followed by the substancein the shape of a groom in his riding livery. The man was plainly a stranger to

the place. He started, and touched his hat, when he saw the two gentlemen in the summerhouse.

"No, Sir. Mr. Geoffrey's brotherMr. Julius. I have ridden over from the house, Sir, with a message from

"They told me I should find him hereabouts, Sir. But I'm a stranger, and don't rightly know where to look."

He stopped, and took a card out of his pocket. "My master said it was very important I should deliver this

immediately. Would you be pleased to tell me, gentlemen, if you happen to know where Mr. Geoffrey is?"

"I have smelt him," answered Sir Patrick, "ever since I have been in the summerhouse. There is a detestable

taint of tobacco in the airsuggestive (disagreeably suggestive to my mind) of your friend, Mr. Delamayn."

"If you are right, Sir Patrick, we will find him at once." He looked around, and shouted, "Geoffrey!"

Geoffrey appeared, sauntering doggedly, with his pipe in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets.

That answer appeared to electrify the lounging and lazy athlete. Geoffrey hurried, with eager steps, to the

summerhouse. He addressed the groom before the man had time to speak With horror and dismay in his

"The best horse in my brother's stables!" cried Geoffrey, explaining, and appealing to them, in a breath. "I left

written directions with the coachman, I measured out his physic for three days; I bled him," said Geoffrey, in

"What's the use of begging my pardon? You're a pack of infernal fools! Where's your horse? I'll ride back,

"Oh! About my father?" He took out his handkerchief, and passed it over his forehead, with a deep gasp of

relief. "I thought it was Ratcatcher," he said, looking at Arnold, with a smile. He put his pipe into his mouth,

and rekindled the dying ashes of the tobacco. "Well?" he went on, when the pipe was in working order, and

"I have only a moment to scribble a line on my card. Our father is dangerously illhis lawyer has been sent

Without a word to any one of the three persons present, all silently looking at him, Geoffrey consulted his

watch. Anne had told him to wait half an hour, and to assume that she had gone if he failed to hear from her

in that time. The interval had passedand no communication of any sort had reached him. The flight from

the house had been safely accomplished. Anne Silvester was, at that moment, on her way to the mountain inn.

ARNOLD was the first who broke the silence. "Is your father seriously ill?" he asked.

Sir Patrick, who had stood apart (while the question of Ratcatcher's relapse was under discussion)

sardonically studying the manners and customs of modern English youth, now came forward, and took his

part in the proceedings. Lady Lundie herself must have acknowledged that he spoke and acted as became the

"Am I right in supposing that Mr. Delamayn's father is dangerously ill?" he asked, addressing himself to

"Dangerously ill, in London," Arnold answered. "Geoffrey must leave Windygates with me. The train I am

traveling by meets the train his brother is traveling by, at the junction. I shall leave him at the second station

"Didn't you tell me that Lady Lundie was going to send you to the railway in a gig?"

Sir Patrick looked at his watch. There was no time to change the carriage. He turned to Geoffrey. "Can you

Without noticing the unceremonious manner in which he had been answered, Sir Patrick went on:

"In that case, you can leave the gig in charge of the stationmaster. I'll tell the servant that he will not be

Sir Patrick declined, by a gesture. He turned again, with undiminished courtesy, to Geoffrey. "It is one of the

duties of hospitality, Mr. Delamayn, to hasten your departure, under these sad circumstances. Lady Lundie is

engaged with her guests. I will see myself that there is no unnecessary delay in sending you to the station."

"I am sorry for this, Geoffrey. I hope and trust you will get to London in time."

He stopped. There was something in Geoffrey's facea strange mixture of doubt and bewilderment, of

annoyance and hesitationwhich was not to be accounted for as the natural result of the news that he had

received. His color shifted and changed; he picked fretfully at his fingernails; he looked at Arnold as if he

"Is there something amiss, Geoffrey, besides this bad news about your father?" asked Arnold.

Instead of making a direct reply, Geoffrey lifted his mighty hand, and gave Arnold a friendly slap on the

shoulder which shook him from head to foot. Arnold steadied himself, and waitedwondering what was

Arnold started. If he could have called to mind his first interview in the summerhouse with his father's old

friend he might have remembered Sir Patrick's prediction that he would sooner or later pay, with interest, the

debt he owed to the man who had saved his life. As it was his memory reverted at a bound to the time of the

boataccident. In the ardor of his gratitude and the innocence of his heart, he almost resented his friend's

"Do you think I can ever forget," he cried, warmly, "that you swam ashore with me and saved my life?"

Arnold took his hand. "Only tell me!" he eagerly rejoined"only tell me what I can do!"

Geoffrey looked round at the entrance to the summerhouse, to make sure that they were alone.

"Yes. I've got into a little difficulty with Miss Silvester. And there isn't a living soul I can ask to help me but

"It isn't so easy to say. Never mindyou're no saint either, are you? You'll keep it a secret, of course? Look

here! I've acted like an infernal fool. I've gone and got the girl into a scrape"

"Because she's written to her missus. Women (hang 'em!) never do these things by halves. She's left a letter to

say she's privately married, and gone off to her husband. Her husband isMe. Not that I'm married to her

yet, you understand. I have only promised to marry her. She has gone on first (on the sly) to a place four

miles from this. And we settled I was to follow, and marry her privately this afternoon. That's out of the

question now. While she's expecting me at the inn I shall be bowling along to London. Somebody must tell

her what has happenedor she'll play the devil, and the whole business will burst up. I can't trust any of the

Arnold lifted his hands in dismay. "It's the most dreadful situation, Geoffrey, I ever heard of in my life!"

Geoffrey thoroughly agreed with him. "Enough to knock a man over," he said, "isn't it? I'd give something for

a drink of beer." He produced his everlasting pipe, from sheer force of habit. "Got a match?" he asked.

"I hope you won't think I'm making light of your father's illness," he said, earnestly. "But it seems to meI

"The first claim on me? Do you think I'm going to risk being cut out of my father's will? Not for the best

Arnold's admiration of his friend was the solidlyfounded admiration of many years; admiration for a man

who could row, box, wrestle, jumpabove all, who could swimas few other men could perform those

exercises in contemporary England. But that answer shook his faith. Only for the momentunhappily for

Geoffrey took his armroughly as he took every thing; but in a companionable and confidential way.

"Go, like a good fellow, and tell her what has happened. We'll start from here as if we were both going to the

railway; and I'll drop you at the footpath, in the gig. You can get on to your own place afterward by the

evening train. It puts you to no inconvenience, and it's doing the kind thing by an old friend. There's no risk

of being found out. I'm to drive, remember! There's no servant with us, old boy, to notice, and tell tales."

Even Arnold began to see dimly by this time that he was likely to pay his debt of obligation with interestas

"What am I to say to her?" he asked. "I'm bound to do all I can do to help you, and I will. But what am I to

It was a natural question to put. It was not an easy question to answer. What a man, under given muscular

circumstances, could do, no person living knew better than Geoffrey Delamayn. Of what a man, under given

"Say?" he repeated. "Look here! say I'm half distracted, and all that. Andwait a bittell her to stop where

Arnold hesitated. Absolutely ignorant of that low and limited form of knowledge which is called "knowledge

of the world," his inbred delicacy of mind revealed to him the serious difficulty of the position which his

friend was asking him to occupy as plainly as if he was looking at it through the warilygathered experience

"Consider for a minute, and you will see. You have trusted me with a very awkward secret. I may be

wrongI never was mixed up in such a matter beforebut to present myself to this lady as your messenger

seems exposing her to a dreadful humiliation. Am I to go and tell her to her face: 'I know what you are hiding

"Bosh!" said Geoffrey. "They can endure a deal more than you think. I wish you had heard how she bullied

me, in this very place. My good fellow, you don't understand women. The grand secret, in dealing with a

"I can't face herunless you will help me by breaking the thing to her first. I'll stick at no sacrifice to serve

you; buthang it!make allowances, Geoffrey, for the difficulty you are putting me in. I am almost a

stranger; I don't know how Miss Silvester may receive me, before I can open my lips."

Those last words touched the question on its practical side. The matteroffact view of the difficulty was a

"She has the devil's own temper," he said. "There's no denying that. Perhaps I'd better write. Have we time to

"No. The house is full of people, and we haven't a minute to spare. Write at once, and write here. I have got a

Geoffrey took the pencil which Arnold offered to him, and looked at the card. The lines his brother had

written covered it. There was no room left. He felt in his pocket, and produced a letterthe letter which

Anne had referred to at the interview between themthe letter which she had written to insist on his

"This will do," he said. "It's one of Anne's own letters to me. There's room on the fourth page. If I write," he

added, turning suddenly on Arnold, "you promise to take it to her? Your hand on the bargain!"

He held out the hand which had saved Arnold's life in Lisbon Harbor, and received Arnold's promise, in

"All right, old fellow. I can tell you how to find the place as we go along in the gig. Bytheby, there's one

"You mustn't present yourself at the inn in your own name; and you mustn't ask for her by her name."

"It's a little awkward. She has gone there as a married woman, in case they're particular about taking her

"And she has planned to tell them (by way of making it all right and straight for both of us, you know) that

she expects her husband to join her. If I had been able to go I should have asked at the door for 'my wife.'

"And I must ask at the door for 'my wife,' or I shall expose Miss Silvester to unpleasant consequences?"

"Not I! I don't care what I say to the people of the inn. It's the meeting with Miss Silvester that I'm afraid of."

He went at once to the table and rapidly scribbled a few linesthen stopped and considered. "Will that do?"

he asked himself. "No; I'd better say something spooney to quiet her." He considered again, added a line, and

brought his hand down on the table with a cheery smack. "That will do the business! Read it yourself,

Arnold read the note without appearing to share his friend's favorable opinion of it.

"Perhaps not. But let Miss Silvester see for herself that you have no time to make it longer. The train starts in

He had just added the desired words and figures, and had given the revised letter to Arnold, when Sir Patrick

"I must see Blanche!" he pleaded. "I can't leave Blanche without saying goodby. Where is she?"

Sir Patrick pointed to the steps, with a smile. Blanche had followed him from the house. Arnold ran out to her

"I shall be back in two days," Arnold whispered. "It's all right! Sir Patrick consents."

She held him fast by the arm. The hurried parting before other people seemed to be not a parting to Blanche's

Geoffrey seized Arnold by the arm which Blanche was holding, and tore himliterally tore himaway. The

two were out of sight, in the shrubbery, before Blanche's indignation found words, and addressed itself to her

"Mr. Delamayn is called to London by his father's illness," replied Sir Patrick. "You don't like him?"

"She is a young girl of eighteen," he thought to himself. "And I am an old man of seventy. Curious, that we

should agree about any thing. More than curious that we should agree in disliking Mr. Delamayn."

He roused himself, and looked again at Blanche. She was seated at the table, with her head on her hand;

absent, and out of spiritsthinking of Arnold, and set, with the future all smooth before them, not thinking

"Why, Blanche! Blanche!" cried Sir Patrick, "one would think he had gone for a voyage round the world.

"I wish he hadn't gone with that man!" said Blanche. "I wish he hadn't got that man for a friend!"

"There! there! the man was rude enough I own. Never mind! he will leave the man at the second station.

"No," returned Blanche. "I'm in no humor for dancing. I shall go up stairs, and talk about it to Anne."

"You will do nothing of the sort!" said a third voice, suddenly joining in the conversation.

Both uncle and niece looked up, and found Lady Lundie at the top of the summerhouse steps.

"I forbid you to mention that woman's name again in my hearing," pursued her ladyship. "Sir Patrick! I

warned you (if you remember?) that the matter of the governess was not a matter to be trifled with. My worst

IT was still early in the afternoon when the guests at Lady Lundie's lawnparty began to compare notes

together in corners, and to agree in arriving at a general conviction that "some thing was wrong."

Blanche had mysteriously disappeared from her partners in the dance. Lady Lundie had mysteriously

abandoned her guests. Blanche had not come back. Lady Lundie had returned with an artificial smile, and a

preoccupied manner. She acknowledged that she was "not very well." The same excuse had been given to

account for Blanche's absenceand, again (some time previously), to explain Miss Silvester's withdrawal

from the croquet! A wit among the gentlemen declared it reminded him of declining a verb. "I am not very

well; thou art not very well; she is not very well"and so on. Sir Patrick too! Only think of the sociable Sir

Patrick being in a state of seclusionpacing up and down by himself in the loneliest part of the garden. And

the servants again! it had even spread to the servants! They were presuming to whisper in corners, like their

betters. The housemaids appeared, spasmodically, where house maids had no business to be. Doors banged

and petticoats whisked in the upper regions. Something wrongdepend upon it, something wrong! "We had

much better go away. My dear, order the carriage""Louisa, love, no more dancing; your papa is

Blanche!""Oh, it's been too charming!" So Society jabbered its poor, nonsensical little jargon, and got

This was exactly the consummation of events for which Sir Patrick had been waiting in the seclusion of the

There was no evading the responsibility which was now thrust upon him. Lady Lundie had announced it as a

settled resolution, on her part, to trace Anne to the place in which she had taken refuge, and discover (purely

in the interests of virtue) whether she actually was married or not. Blanche (already overwrought by the

excitem ent of the day) had broken into an hysterical passion of tears on hearing the news, and had then, on

recovering, taken a view of her own of Anne's flight from the house. Anne would never have kept her

marriage a secret from Blanche; Anne would never have written such a formal farewell letter as she had

written to Blancheif things were going as smoothly with her as she was trying to make them believe at

Windygates. Some dreadful trouble had fallen on Anne and Blanche was determined (as Lady Lundie was

It was plain to Sir Patrick (to whom both ladies had opened their hearts, at separate interviews) that his

sisterinlaw, in one way, and his niece in another, were equally likelyif not duly restrainedto plunge

headlong into acts of indiscretion which might lead to very undesirable results. A man in authority was sorely

needed at Windygates that afternoonand Sir Patrick was fain to acknowledge that he was the man.

"Much is to be said for, and much is to be said against a single life," thought the old gentleman, walking up

and down the sequestered gardenpath to which he had retired , and applying himself at shorter intervals than

usual to the knob of his ivory cane. "This, however, is, I take it, certain. A man's married friends can't prevent

him from leading the life of a bachelor, if he pleases. But they can, and do, take devilish good care that he

Sir Patrick's meditations were interrupted by the appearance of a servant, previously instructed to keep him

"That's a comfort, Simpson. We have no visitors to deal with now, except the visitors who are staying in the

Does any other form of human resolution approach the firmness of a woman who is bent on discovering the

frailties of another woman whom she hates? You may move rocks, under a given set of circumstances. But

here is a delicate being in petticoats, who shrieks if a spider drops on her neck, and shudders if you approach

her after having eaten an onion. Can you move her, under a given set of circumstances, as set forth above?

Sir Patrick found her ladyship instituting her inquiries on the same admirably exhaustive system which is

pursued, in cases of disappearance, by the police. Who was the last witness who had seen the missing person?

Who was the last servant who had seen Anne Silvester? Begin with the menservants, from the butler at the

top to the stable boy at the bottom. Go on with the womenservants, from the cook in all her glory to the

small female child who weeds the garden. Lady Lundie had crossexamined her way downward as far as the

"My dear lady! pardon me for reminding you again, that this is a free country, and that you have no claim

whatever to investigate Miss Silvester's proceedings after she has left your house."

Lady Lundie raised her eyes, devotionally, to the ceiling. She looked like a martyr to duty. If you had seen

"No, Sir Patrick! As a Christian woman, that is not my way of looking at it. This unhappy person has lived

under my roof. This unhappy person has been the companion of Blanche. I am responsibleI am, in a

manner, morally responsible. I would give the world to be able to dismiss it as you do. But no! I must be

satisfied that she is married. In the interests of propriety. For the quieting of my own conscience. Before I lay

my head on my pillow tonight, Sir Patrickbefore I lay my head on my pillow tonight!"

"No!" repeated her ladyship, with the most pathetic gentleness. "You are right, I dare say, from the worldly

point of view. I can't take the worldly point of view. The worldly point of view hurts me." She turned, with

impressive gravity, to the page. "You know where you will go, Jonathan, if you tell lies!"

Jonathan was lazy, Jonathan was pimply, Jonathan was fatbut Jonathan was orthodox. He answered that he

Sir Patrick saw that further opposition on his part, at that moment, would be worse than useless. He wisely

determined to wait, before he interfered again, until Lady Lundie had thoroughly exhausted herself and her

inquiries. At the same timeas it was impossible, in the present state of her ladyship's temper, to provide

against what might happen if the inquiries after Anne unluckily proved successfulhe decided on taking

measures to clear the house of the guests (in the interests of all parties) for the next fourandtwenty hours.

"I only want to ask you a question, Lady Lundie," he resumed. "The position of the gentlemen who are

staying here is not a very pleasant one while all this is going on. If you had been content to let the matter pass

without notice, we should have done very well. As things are, don't you think it will be more convenient to

He quitted the room, leaving Jonathan under examination. He and his brother (the late Sir Thomas) had

chosen widely different paths in life, and had seen but little of each other since the time when they had been

boys. Sir Patrick's recollections (on leaving Lady Lundie) appeared to have taken him back to that time, and

to have inspired him with a certain tenderness for his brother's memory. He shook his head, and sighed a sad

little sigh. "Poor Tom!" he said to himself, softly, after he had shut the door on his brother's widow. "Poor

On crossing the hall, he stopped the first servant he met, to inquire after Blanche. Miss Blanche was quiet, up

stairs, closeted with her maid in her own room. "Quiet?" thought Sir Patrick. "That's a bad sign. I shall hear

Pending that event, the next thing to do was to find the guests. Unerring instinct led Sir Patrick to the

billiardroom. There he found them, in solemn conclave assembled. wondering what they had better do. Sir

"You can start from this house," pursued Sir Patrick; "or you can start from a shootingcottage which is on

the Windygates propertyamong the woods, on the other side of the moor. The weather looks pretty well

settled (for Scotland), and there are plenty of horses in the stables. It is useless to conceal from you,

gentlemen, that events have taken a certain unexpected turn in my sisterinlaw's family circle. You will be

equally Lady Lundie's guests, whether you choose the cottage or the house. For the next twentyfour hours

"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick, "It is arranged to ride over to the shootingcottage this evening, and to try

the moor, on that side, the first thing in the morning. If events here will allow me, I shall be delighted to

accompany you, and do the honors as well as I can. If not, I am sure you will accept my apologies for

Adopted unanimously. Sir Patrick left the guests to their billiards, and went out to give the necessary orders

In the mean time Blanche remained portentously quiet in the upper regions of the house; while Lady Lundie

steadily pursued her inquiries down stairs. She got on from Jonathan (last of the males, indoors) to the

coachman (first of the males, outofdoors), and dug down, man by man, through that new stratum, until she

struck the stableboy at the bottom . Not an atom of information having been extracted in the house or out of

the house, from man or boy, her ladyship fell back on the women next. She pulled the bell, and summoned

Elderly and quiet; scrupulously clean; eminently respectable; her gray hair neat and smooth under her modest

white cap; her eyes, set deep in their orbits, looking straight at any person who spoke to herhere, at a first

view, was a steady, trustworthy woman. Here also on closer inspection, was a woman with the seal of some

terrible past suffering set on her for the rest of her life. You felt it, rather than saw it, in the look of

immovable endurance which underlain her expressionin the deathlike tranquillity which never disappeared

from her manner. Her story was a sad oneso far as it was known. She had entered Lady Lundie's service at

the period of Lady Lundie's marriage to Sir Thomas. Her character (given by the clergyman of her parish)

described her as having been married to an inveterate drunkard, and as having suffered unutterably during her

husband's lifetime. There were drawbacks to engaging her, now that she was a widow. On one of the many

occasions on which her husband had personally illtreated her, he had struck her a blow which had produced

very remarkable nervous results. She had lain insensible many days together, and had recovered with the total

loss of her speech. In addition to this objection, she was odd, at times, in her manner; and she made it a

condition of accepting any situation, that she should be privileged to sleep in a room by herself As a setoff

against all this, it was to be said, on the other side of the question, that she was sober; rigidly honest in all her

dealings; and one of the best cooks in England. In consideration of this last merit, the late Sir Thomas had

decided on giving her a trial, and had discovered that he had never dined in his life as he dined when Hester

Dethridge was at the head of his kitchen. She remained after his death in his widow's service. Lady Lundie

was far from liking her. An unpleasant suspicion attached to the cook, which Sir Thomas had overlooked,

but which persons less sensible of the immense importance of dining well could not fail to regard as a serious

objection to her. Medical men, consulted about her case discovered certain physiological anomalies in it

which led them to suspect the woman of feigning dumbness, for some reason best known to herself. She

obstinately declined to learn the deaf and dumb alphabeton the ground that dumbness was not associated

with deafness in her case. Stratagems were invented (seeing that she really did possess the use of her ears) to

entrap her into also using her speech, and failed. Efforts were made to induce her to answer questions relating

to her past life in her husband's time. She flatly declined to reply to them, one and all. At certain intervals,

strange impulses to get a holiday away from the house appeared to seize her. If she was resisted, she

passively declined to do her work. If she was threatened with dismissal, she impenetrably bowed her head, as

much as to say, "Give me the word, and I go." Over and over again, Lady Lundie had decided, naturally

enough, on no longer keeping such a servant as this; but she had never yet carried the decision to execution.

A cook who is a perfect mistress of her art, who asks for no perquisites, who allows no waste, who never

quarrels with the other servants, who drinks nothing stronger than tea, who is to be trusted with untold

goldis not a cook easily replaced. In this mortal life we put up with many persons and things, as Lady

Lundie put up with her cook. The woman lived, as it were, on the brink of dismissalbut thus far the woman

kept her placegetting her holidays when she asked for them (which, to do her justice, was not often) and

sleeping always (go where she might with the family) with a locked door, in a room by herself.

Hester Dethridge advanced slowly to the table at which Lady Lundie was sitting. A slate and pencil hung at

her side, which she used for making such replies as were not to be expressed by a gesture or by a motion of

the head. She took up the slate and pencil, and waited with stony submission for her mistress to begin.

Lady Lundie opened the proceedings with the regular formula of inquiry which she had used with all the

Another affirmative reply. The first which Lady Lundie had received to that question yet. She eagerly went

Hester Dethridge wrote slowly on the slate, in singularly firm upright characters for a woman in her position

Hester Dethridge wrote: "I wanted eggs for the kitchen, and a breath of fresh air for myself."

Lady Lundie rose excitedly to her feet. There was but one place that a stranger could go to at Craig Fernie.

Hester Dethridge waited immovably. Lady Lundie put a last precautionary question, in these words:

An affirmative reply. Lady Lundie had not bargained for that. Hester Dethridge (she thought) must surely

Lady Lundie stepped back, staggered by the discovery that Blanche's resolution to trace Anne Silvester was,

to all appearance, as firmly settled as her own. Her stepdaughter was keeping her own counsel, and acting

on her own responsibilityher stepdaughter might be an awkward obstacle in the way. The manner in

which Anne had left the house had mortally offended Lady Lundie. An inveterately vindictive woman, she

had resolved to discover whatever compromising elements might exist in the governess's secret, and to make

them public property (from a paramount sense of duty, of course) among her own circle of friends. But to do

thiswith Blanche acting (as might certainly be anticipated) in direct opposition to her, and openly

The first thing to be doneand that instantlywas to inform Blanche that she was discovered, and to forbid

Lady Lundie rang the bell twicethus intimating, according to the laws of the household, that she required

the attendance of her own maid. She then turned to the cookstill waiting her pleasure, with stony

"You have done wrong," said her ladyship, severely. "I am your mistress. You are bound to answer your

Hester Dethridge bowed her head, in icy acknowledgment of the principle laid downso far.

"But Miss Blanche is not your mistress," she went on, sternly. "You are very much to blame for answering

Hester Dethridge, perfectly unmoved, wrote her justification on her slate, in two stiff sentences: "I had no

That reply settled the question of the cook's dismissalthe question which had been pending for months

"You are an insolent woman! I have borne with you long enoughI will bear with you no longer. When

Not the slightest change passed over the sinister tranquillity of the cook. She bowed her head again, in

acknowledgment of the sentence pronounced on herdropped her slate at her sideturned aboutand left

the room. The woman was alive in the world, and working in the world; and yet (so far as all human interests

were concerned) she was as completely out of the world as if she had been screwed down in her coffin, and

"Go up stairs to Miss Blanche," said her mistress, "and say I want her here. Wait a minute!" She paused, and

considered. Blanche might decline to submit to her stepmother's interference with her. It might be necessary

to appeal to the higher authority of her guardian. "Do you know where Sir Patrick is?" asked Lady Lundie.

"Send Simpson with a message. My compliments to Sir Patrickand I wish to see him immediately."

The preparations for the departure to the shootingcottage were just completed; and the one question that

remained to be settled was, whether Sir Patrick could accompany the partywhen the manservant appeared

"Will you give me a quarter of an hour, gentlemen?" asked Sir Patrick. "In that time I shall know for certain

As a matter of course, the guests decided to wait. The younger men among them (being Englishmen)

naturally occupied their leisure time in betting. Would Sir Patrick get the better of the domestic crisis? or

would the domestic crisis get the better of Sir Patrick? The domestic crisis was backed, at two to one, to win.

Punctually at the expiration of the quarter of an hour, Sir Patrick reappeared. The domestic crisis had

betrayed the blind confidence which youth and inexperience had placed in it. Sir Patrick had won the day.

"Things are settled and quiet, gentlemen; and I am able to accompany you," he said. "There are two ways to

the shootingcottage. Onethe longestpasses by the inn at Craig Fernie. I am compelled to ask you to go

with me by that way. While you push on to the cottage, I must drop behind, and say a word to a person who

He had quieted Lady Lundiehe had even quieted Blanche. But it was evidently on the condition that he

was to go to Craig Fernie in their places, and to see Anne Silvester himself. Without a word more of

explanation he mounted his horse, and led the way out. The shootingparty left Windygates.

"YE'LL just permit me to remind ye again, young leddy, that the hottle's fullexceptin' only this

So spoke "Mistress Inchbare," landlady of the Craig Fernie Inn, to Anne Silvester, standing in the parlor,

purse in hand, and offering the price of the two rooms before she claimed permission to occupy them.

The time of the afternoon was about the time when Geoffrey Delamayn had started in the train, on his

journey to London. About the time also, when Arnold Brinkworth had crossed the moor, and was mounting

Mistress Inchbare was tall and thin, and decent and dry. Mistress Inchbare's unlovable hair clung fast round

her head in wiry little yellow curls. Mistress Inchbare's hard bones showed themselves, like Mistress

Inchbare's hard Presbyterianism, without any concealment or compromise. In short, a savagelyrespectable

There was no competition to interfere with Mistress Inchbare. She regulated her own prices, and made her

own rules. If you objected to her prices, and revolted from her rules, you were free to go. In other words, you

were free to cast yourself, in the capacity of houseless wanderer, on the scanty mercy of a Scotch wilderness.

The village of Craig Fernie was a collection of hovels. The country about Craig Fernie, mountain on one side

and moor on the other, held no second house of public entertainment, for miles and miles round, at any point

of the compass. No rambling individual but the helpless British Tourist wanted food and shelter from

strangers in that part of Scotland; and nobody but Mistress Inchbare had food and shelter to sell. A more

thoroughly independent person than this was not to be found on the face of the hotelkeeping earth. The most

universal of all civilized terrorsthe terror of appearing unfavorably in the newspaperswas a sensation

absolutely unknown to the Empress of the Inn. You lost your temper, and threatened to send her bill for

exhibition in the public journals. Mistress Inchbare raised no objection to your taking any course you pleased

with it. "Eh, man! send the bill whar' ye like, as long as ye pay it first. There's nae such thing as a newspaper

ever darkens my doors. Ye've got the Auld and New Testaments in your bedchambers, and the natural history

o' Pairthshire on the coffeeroom tableand if that's no' reading eneugh for ye, ye may een gae back South

This was the inn at which Anne Silvester had appeared alone, with nothing but a little bag in her hand. This

was the woman whose reluctance to receive her she innocently expected to overcome by showing her purse.

"Mention your charge for the rooms," she said. "I am willing to pay for them beforehand."

Her majesty, Mrs. Inchbare, never even looked at her subject's poor little purse.

"It just comes to this, mistress," she answered. "I'm no' free to tak' your money, if I'm no' free to let ye the last

rooms left in the hoose. The Craig Fernie hottle is a faimily hottleand has its ain gude name to keep up.

The time had been when Anne would have answered sharply enough. The hard necessities of her position

"I have already told you," she said, "my husband is coming here to join me." She sighed wearily as she

repeated her readymade storyand dropped into the nearest chair, from sheer inability to stand any longer.

Mistress Inchbare looked at her, with the exact measure of compassionate interest which she might have

shown if she had been looking at a stray dog who had fallen footsore at the door of the inn.

"Weel! weel! sae let it be. Bide awhile, and rest ye. We'll no' chairge ye for thatand we'll see if your

husband comes. I'll just let the rooms, mistress, to him,, instead o' lettin' them to you. And, sae, goodmorrow

t' ye." With that final announcement of her royal will and pleasure, the Empress of the Inn withdrew.

Anne made no reply. She watched the landlady out of the roomand then struggled to control herself no

longer. In her position, suspicion was doubly insult. The hot tears of shame gathered in her eyes; and the

A trifling noise in the room startled her. She looked up, and detected a man in a corner, dusting the furniture,

and apparently acting in the capacity of attendant at the inn. He had shown her into the parlor on her arrival;

but he had remained so quietly in the room that she had never noticed him since, until that moment.

He was an ancient manwith one eye filmy and blind, and one eye moist and merry. His head was bald; his

feet were gouty; his nose was justly celebrated as the largest nose and the reddest nose in that part of

Scotland. The mild wisdom of years was expressed mysteriously in his mellow smile. In contact with this

wicked world, his manner revealed that happy mixture of two extremesthe servility which just touches

independence, and the independence which just touches servilityattained by no men in existence but

Scotchmen. Enormous native impudence, which amused but never offended; immeasurable cunning,

masquerading habitually under the double disguise of quaint prejudice and dry humor, were the solid moral

foundations on which the character of this elderly person was built. No amount of whisky ever made him

drunk; and no violence of bellringing ever hurried his movements. Such was the headwaiter at the Craig

Fernie Inn; known, far and wide, to local fame, as "Maister Bishopriggs, Mistress Inchbare's righthand

Mr. Bishopriggs turned himself about on his gouty feet; waved his duster gently in the air; and looked at

Mr. Bishopriggs advanced confidentially, and pointed with a very unsteady forefinger to the purse which

"Never fash yoursel' aboot the landleddy!" said the sage chief of the Craig Fernie waiters. "Your purse speaks

for you, my lassie. Pet it up!" cried Mr. Bishopriggs, waving temptation away from him with the duster. "In

wi' it into yer pocket! Sae long as the warld's the warld, I'll uphaud it any wherewhile there's siller in the

"What do you mean by speaking to me in that familiar manner?" she asked, rising angrily to her feet again.

Mr. Bishopriggs tucked his duster under his arm, and proceeded to satisfy Anne that he shared the landlady's

view of her position, without sharing the severity of the landlady's principles. "There's nae man livin'," said

Mr. Bishopriggs, "looks with mair indulgence at human frailty than my ain sel'. Am I no' to be familiar wi'

yewhen I'm auld eneugh to be a fether to ye, and ready to be a fether to ye till further notice? Hech! hech!

Order your bit dinner lassie. Husband or no husband, ye've got a stomach, and ye must een eat. There's fesh

and there's fowlor, maybe, ye'll be for the sheep's head singit, when they've done with it at the tabble dot?"

There was but one way of getting rid of him: "Order what you like," Anne said, "and leave the room." Mr.

Bishopriggs highly approved of the first half of the sentence, and totally overlooked the second.

"Ay, ayjust pet a' yer little interests in my hands; it's the wisest thing ye can do. Ask for Maister

Bishopriggs (that's me) when ye want a decent 'sponsible man to gi' ye a word of advice. Set ye doon

againset ye doon. And don't tak' the armchair. Hech! hech! yer husband will be coming, ye know, and

he's sure to want it!" With that seasonable pleasantry the venerable Bishopriggs winked, and went out.

Anne looked at her watch. By her calculation it was not far from the hour when Geoffrey might be expected

to arrive at the inn, assuming Geoffrey to have left Windygates at the time agreed on. A little more patience,

and the landlady's scruples would be satisfied, and the ordeal would be at an end.

Could she have met him nowhere else than at this barbarous house, and among these barbarous people?

No. Outside the doors of Windygates she had not a friend to help her in all Scotland. There was no place at

her disposal but the inn; and she had only to be thankful that it occupied a sequestered situation, and was not

likely to be visited by any of Lady Lundie's friends. Whatever the risk might be, the end in view justified her

in confronting it. Her whole future depended on Geoffrey's making an honest woman of her. Not her future

with himthat way there was no hope; that way her life was wasted. Her future with Blancheshe looked

Her spirits sank lower and lower. The tears rose again. It would only irritate him if he came and found her

There was very little to see. Except that it was solidly built of good sound stone, the Craig Fernie hotel

differed in no other important respect from the average of secondrate English inns. There was the usual

slippery black sofaconstructed to let you slide when you wanted to rest. There was the usual

highlyvarnished armchair, expressly manufactured to test the endurance of the human spine. There was the

usual paper on the walls, of the pattern designed to make your eyes ache and your head giddy. There were the

usual engravings, which humanity never tires of contemplating. The Royal Portrait, in the first place of

honor. The next greatest of all human beingsthe Duke of Wellingtonin the second place of honor. The

third greatest of all human beingsthe local member of parliamentin the third place of honor; and a

hunting scene, in the dark. A door opposite the door of admission from the passage opened into the bedroom;

and a window at the side looked out on the open space in front of the hotel, and commanded a view of the

vast expanse of the Craig Fernie moor, stretching away below the rising ground on which the house was built.

Anne turned in despair from the view in the room to the view from the window. Within the last half hour it

had changed for the worse. The clouds had gathered; the sun was hidden; the light on the landscape was gray

and dull. Anne turned from the window, as she had turned from the room. She was just making the hopeless

attempt to rest her weary limbs on the sofa, when the sound of voices and footsteps in the passage caught her

The landlady had declined to let her have the rooms: it was quite possible that the strangers might be coming

to look at them. There was no knowing who they might be. In the impulse of the moment she flew to the

The door from the passage opened, and Arnold Brinkworthshown in by Mr. Bishopriggsentered the

Mr. Bishopriggs pointed to the bedroom door. "Eh! yer good leddy's joost in the bedchamber, nae doot!"

Arnold started. He had felt no difficulty (when he and Geoffrey had discussed the question at Windygates)

about presenting himself at the inn in the assumed character of Anne's husband. But the result of putting the

deception in practice was, to say the least of it, a little embarrassing at first. Here was the waiter describing

Miss Silvester as his "good lady;" and leaving it (most naturally and properly) to the "good lady's" husband to

knock at her bedroom door, and tell her that he was there. In despair of knowing what else to do at the

moment, Arnold asked for the landlady, whom he had not seen on arriving at the inn.

"The landleddy's just tottin' up the ledgers o' the hottle in her ain room," answered Mr. Bishopriggs. "She'll be

here anonthe wearyful woman!speerin' who ye are and what ye are, and takin' a' the business o' the

hoose on her ain pair o' shouthers." He dropped the subject of the landlady, and put in a plea for himself. "I

ha' lookit after a' the leddy's little comforts, Sir," he whispered. "Trust in me! trust in me!"

Arnold's attention was absorbed in the very serious difficulty of announcing his arrival to Anne. "How am I

to get her out?" he said to himself, with a look of perplexity directed at the bedroom door.

He had spoken loud enough for the waiter to hear him. Arnold's look of perplexity was instantly reflected on

the face of Mr. Bishopriggs. The headwaiter at Craig Fernie possessed an immense experience of the

manners and customs of newlymarried people on their honeymoon trip. He had been a second father (with

excellent pecuniary results) to innumerable brides and bridegrooms. He knew young married couples in all

their varieties:The couples who try to behave as if they had been married for many years; the couples who

attempt no concealment, and take advice from competent authorities about them. The couples who are

bashfully talkative before third persons; the couples who are bashfully silent under similar circumstances.

The couples who don't know what to do, the couples who wish it was over; the couples who must never be

intruded upon without careful preliminary knocking at the door; the couples who can eat and drink in the

intervals of "bliss," and the other couples who can't. But the bridegroom who stood he lpless on one side of

the door, and the bride who remained locked in on the other, were new varieties of the nuptial species, even

"Hoo are ye to get her oot?" he repeated. "I'll show ye hoo!" He advanced as rapidly as his gouty feet would

let him, and knocked at the bedroom door. "Eh, my leddy! here he is in flesh and bluid. Mercy preserve us!

At that unanswerable appeal the lock was heard turning in the door. Mr. Bishopriggs winked at Arnold with

his one available eye, and laid his forefinger knowingly along his enormous nose. "I'm away before she falls

He left Arnold alone in the room. The bedroom door opened slowly by a few inches at a time. Anne's voice

Arnold's heart began to beat fast, in anticipation of the disclosure which was now close at hand. He knew

There was the certain prospect of alarming her, if some reply was not given. There was no help for it. Come

The door was flung wide open. Anne Silvester appeared on the threshold, confronting him.

For a moment more neither of them spoke. Anne advanced one step into the sittingroom, and put the next

Geoffrey's letter represented the only possible excuse for Arnold's appearance in that place, and at that time.

She was instantly on her guard. They were little better than strangers to each other, as Arnold had said. A

sickening presentiment of some treachery on Geoffrey's part struck cold to her heart. She refused to take the

"I expect no letter," she said. "Who told you I was here?" She put the question, not only with a tone of

suspicion, but with a look of contempt. The look was not an easy one for a man to bear. It required a

momentary exertion of selfcontrol on Arnold's part, before he could trust himself to answer with due

consideration for her. "Is there a watch set on my actions?" she went on, with rising anger. "And are you the

"You haven't known me very long, Miss Silvester," Arnold answered, quietly. "But you ought to know me

She was an the point of following his example, and of speaking of Geoffrey by his Christian name, on her

She was determined to acknowledge nothingshe kept him obstinately at arm'slength. Arnold did, as a

matter of instinct, what a man of larger experience would have done, as a matter of calculationhe closed

"Miss Silvester! it's no use beating about the bush. If you won't take the letter, you force me to speak out. I

am here on a very unpleasant errand. I begin to wish, from the bottom of my heart, I had never undertaken it."

A quick spasm of pain passed across her face. She was beginning, dimly beginning, to understand him. He

"Try not to be angry with me, Miss Silvester. Geoffrey and I are old friends. Geoffrey knows he can trust

"When I was in the other room I asked if Geoffrey was there. And this man answered for him." She sprang

She violently pushed back the hand with which Arnold once more offered the letter. "You don't look at me!

"Read his letter," persisted Arnold. "In justice to him, if you won't in justice to me."

The situation was too painful to be endured. Arnold looked at her, this time, with a man's resolution in his

eyesspoke to her, this time, with a man's resolution in his voice. She took the letter.

"I beg your pardon, Sir," she said, with a sudden humiliation of tone and manner, inexpressibly shocking,

inexpressibly pitiable to see. "I understand my position at last. I am a woman doubly betrayed. Please to

excuse what I said to you just now, when I supposed myself to have some claim on your respect. Perhaps you

Arnold was silent. Words were useless in the face of such utter selfabandonment as this. Any man

She looked for the first time at the letter. She opened it on the wrong side. "My own letter!" she said to

She turned to the last page, and read the hurried penciled lines. "Villain! villain! villain!" At the third

repetition of the word, she crushed the letter in the palm of her hand, and flung it from her to the other end of

the room. The instant after, the fire that had flamed up in her died out. Feebly and slowly she reached out her

hand to the nearest chair, and sat down in it with her back to Arnold. "He has deserted me!" was all she said.

The words fell low and quiet on the silence: they were the utterance of an immeasurable despair.

"You are wrong!" exclaimed Arnold. "Indeed, indeed you are wrong! It's no excuseit's the truth. I was

"Don't take it in that way!" pleaded Arnold"pray don't! It's dreadful to hear you; it is indeed. I am sure he

has not deserted you." There was no answer; no sign that she heard him; she sat there, struck to stone. It was

impossible to call the landlady in at such a moment as this. In despair of knowing how else to rouse her,

Arnold drew a chair to her side, and patted her timidly on the shoulder. "Come!" he said, in his

Arnold's heart went back, at that dreadful question, to the one woman who was eternally sacred to himto

That answer set the prisoned misery in her free. She gave him her handshe faintly thanked him. The

Arnold rose, and turned away to the window in despair. "I mean well," he said. "And yet I only distress her!"

She heard him, and straggled to compose herself "No," she answered, "you comfort me. Don't mind my

cryingI'm the better for it." She looked round at him gratefully. "I won't distress you, Mr. Brinkworth. I

ought to thank youand I do. Come back or I shall think you are angry with me." Arnold went back to her.

She gave him her hand once more. "One doesn't understand people all at once," she said, simply. "I thought

you were like other menI didn't know till today how kind you could be. Did you walk here?" she added,

suddenly, with an effort to change the subject. "Are you tired? I have not been kindly received at this

It was impossible not to feel for herit was impossible not to be interested in her. Arnold's honest longing to

help her expressed itself a little too openly when he spoke next. "All I want, Miss Silvester, is to be of some

service to you, if I can," he said. "Is there any thing I can do to make your position here more comfortable?

"You will hear from Geoffrey," Arnold went on, "tomorrow or next day. I know he means to write."

"For Heaven's sake, don't speak of him any more!" she cried out. "How do you think I can look you in the

face" Her cheeks flushed deep, and her eyes rested on him with a momentary firmness. "Mind this! I am

his wife, if promises can make me his wife! He has pledged his word to me by all that is sacred!" She

checked herself impatiently. "What am I saying? What interest can you have in this miserable state of things?

Don't let us talk of it! I have something else to say to you. Let us go back to my troubles here. Did you see the

"The landlady has made some absurd difficulty about letting me have these rooms because I came here

Arnold smiled. After what had passed, it was an indescribable relief to him to see the humorous side of his

"Certainly," he answered. "When I asked for the lady who had arrived here alone this afternoon"

"Yes. I haven't done wronghave I? As I understood it, there was no alternative. Geoffrey told me you had

settled with him to present yourself here as a married lady, whose husband was coming to join her."

"Natural enough. Still, it comes to the same thing (doesn't it?) with the people of this house."

"I will try and explain myself a little better. Geoffrey said your position here depended on my asking for you

at the door (as he would have asked for you if he had come) in the character of your husband."

"No right? After what you have told me of the landlady, just think what might have happened if he had

not said it! I haven't had much experience myself of these things. Butallow me to askwouldn't it have

been a little awkward (at my age) if I had come here and inquired for you as a friend? Don't you think, in that

case, the landlady might have made some additional difficulty about letting you have the rooms?"

It was beyond dispute that the landlady would have refused to let the rooms at all. It was equally plain that

the deception which Arnold had practiced on the people of the inn was a deception which Anne had herself

rendered necessary, in her own interests. She was not to blame; it was clearly impossible for her to have

foreseen such an event as Geoffrey's departure for London. Still, she felt an uneasy sense of responsibilitya

vague dread of what might happen next. She sat nervously twisting her handkerchief in her lap, and made no

"Don't suppose I object to this little stratagem," Arnold went on. "I am serving my old friend, and I am

"Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "forgive me the rudeness of something I am about to say to you. When are you

"YesBlanche. She found time to tell me what had passed between you this morning before I left

Windygates. I know you have made her an offer: I know you are engaged to be married to her."

Arnold was delighted to hear it. He had been merely unwilling to leave her thus far. He was absolutely

"Don't expect me to go after that!" he said. "Come and sit down again, and let's talk about Blanche."

Anne declined impatiently, by a gesture. Arnold was too deeply interested in the new topic to take any notice

"You know all about her habits and her tastes," he went on, "and what she likes, and what she dislikes. It's

most important that I should talk to you about her. When we are husband and wife, Blanche is to have all her

own way in every thing. That's my idea of the Whole Duty of Manwhen Man is married. You are still

It was cruelunder other circumstances it would have been impossibleto disappoint him. But the vague

fear of consequences which had taken possession of Anne was not to be trifled with. She had no clear

conception of the risk (and it is to be added, in justice to Geoffrey, that he had no clear conception of the risk)

on which Arnold had unconsciously ventured, in undertaking his errand to the inn. Neither of them had any

adequate idea (few people have) of the infamous absence of all needful warning, of all decent precaution and

restraint, which makes the marriage law of Scotland a trap to catch unmarried men and women, to this day.

But, while Geoffrey's mind was incapable of looking beyond the present emergency, Anne's finer intelligence

told her that a country which offered such facilities for private marriage as the facilities of which she had

proposed to take advantage in her own case, was not a country in which a man could act as Arnold had acted,

without danger of some serious embarrassment following as the possible result. With this motive to animate

her, she resolutely declined to take the offered chair, or to enter into the proposed conversation.

"Whatever we have to say about Blanche, Mr. Brinkworth, must be said at some fitter time. I beg you will

"Yes. Leave me to the solitude that is best for me, and to the sorrow that I have deserved. Thank youand

She was unable fully to realize her own apprehensions. She was doubly unable to express them in words. In

her anxiety to produce some reason which might prevail on him to go, she drifted back into that very

conversation about Blanche into which she had declined to enter but the moment before.

"I have reasons for being afraid," she said. "One that I can't give; and one that I can. Suppose Blanche heard

of what you have done? The longer you stay herethe more people you seethe more chance there is that

"And what if she did?" asked Arnold, in his own straightforward way. "Do you think she would be angry

Arnold's unlimited belief in Blanche expressed itself, without the slightest compromise, in two words:

Anxious as she was, miserable as she was, a faint smile flitted over Anne's face.

"Sir Patrick would tell you, Mr. Brinkworth, that nothing is impossible where women are concerned." She

dropped her momentary lightness of tone, and went on as earnestly as ever. "You can't put yourself in

Blanche's placeI can. Once more, I beg you to go. I don't like your coming here, in this way! I don't like it

She held out her hand to take leave. At the same moment there was a loud knock at the door of the room.

Anne sank into the chair at her side, and uttered a faint cry of alarm. Arnold, perfectly impenetrable to all

sense of his position, asked what there was to frighten herand answered the knock in the two customary

The door opened, little by little, an inch at a time. Mr. Bishopriggs appeared mysteriously, with the cloth for

dinner over his arm, and with his second in c ommand behind him, bearing "the furnishing of the table" (as it

"And I tauld you," answered Mr. Bishopriggs, "that I wadna come in without knocking first. Eh, man!" he

went on, dismissing his second in command, and laying the cloth with his own venerable hands, "d'ye think

I've lived in this hottle in blinded eegnorance of hoo young married couples pass the time when they're left to

themselves? Twa knocks at the doorand an unco trouble in opening it, after thatis joost the least ye can

do for them! Whar' do ye think, noo, I'll set the places for you and your leddy there?"

Anne walked away to the window, in undisguised disgust. Arnold found Mr. Bishopriggs to be quite

"One at tap and one at bottom?" repeated Mr. Bishopriggs, in high disdain. "De'il a bit of it! Baith yer chairs

as close together as chairs can be. Hech! hech!haven't I caught 'em, after goodness knows hoo many

preleeminary knocks at the door, dining on their husbands' knees, and steemulating a man's appetite by

feeding him at the fork's end like a child? Eh!" sighed the sage of Craig Fernie, "it's a short life wi' that

nuptial business, and a merry one! A mouth for yer billin' and cooin'; and a' the rest o' yer days for wondering

ye were ever such a fule, and wishing it was a' to be done ower again.Ye'll be for a bottle o' sherry wine,

Arnold noddedand then, in obedience to a signal from Anne, joined her at the window. Mr. Bishopriggs

looked after them attentivelyobserved that they were talking in whispersand approved of that

proceeding, as representing another of the established customs of young married couples at inns, in the

"Ay! ay!" he said, looking over his shoulder at Arnold, "gae to your deerie! gae to your deerie! and leave a'

the solid business o' life to Me. Ye've Screepture warrant for it. A man maun leave fether and mother (I'm yer

fether), and cleave to his wife. My certie! 'cleave' is a strong wordthere's nae sort o' doot aboot it, when it

comes to 'cleaving!' " He wagged his head thoughtfully, and walked to the sidetable in a corner, to cut the

As he took up the knife, his one wary eye detected a morsel of crumpled paper, lying lost between the table

and the wall. It was the letter from Geoffrey, which Anne had flung from her, in the first indignation of

"What's that I see yonder?" muttered Mr. Bishopriggs, under his breath. "Mair litter in the room, after I've

He picked up the crumpled paper, and partly opened it. "Eh! what's here? Writing on it in ink? and writing on

it in pencil? Who may this belong to?" He looked round cautiously toward Arnold and Anne. They were both

still talking in whispers, and both standing with their backs to him, looking out of the window. "Here it is,

clean forgotten and dune with!" thought Mr. Bishopriggs. "Noo what would a fule do, if he fund this? A fule

wad light his pipe wi' it, and then wonder whether he wadna ha' dune better to read it first. And what wad a

wise man do, in a seemilar position?" He practically answered that question by putting the letter into his

pocket. It might be worth keeping, or it might not; five minutes' private examination of it would decide the

alternative, at the first convenient opportunity. "Am gaun' to breeng the dinner in!" he called out to Arnold.

"And, mind ye, there's nae knocking at the door possible, when I've got the tray in baith my hands, and mairs

the pity, the gout in baith my feet." With that friendly warning, Mr. Bishopriggs went his way to the regions

Arnold continued his conversation with Anne in terms which showed that the question of his leaving the inn

had been the question once more discussed between them while they were standing at the window.

"You see we can't help it," he said. "The waiter has gone to bring the dinner in. What will they think in the

It was so plainly necessary to keep up appearances for the present, that there was nothing more to be said.

Arnold was committing a serious imprudenceand yet, on this occasion, Arnold was right. Anne's

annoyance at feeling that conclusion forced on her produced the first betrayal of impatience which she had

shown yet. She left Arnold at the window, and flung herself on the sofa. "A curse seems to follow me!" she

In the mean time Mr. Bishopriggs had found the dinner in the kitchen, ready, and waiting for him. Instead of

at once taking the tray on which it was placed into the sittingroom, he conveyed it privately into his own

"Lie ye there, my freend, till the spare moment comesand I'll look at ye again," he said, putting the letter

away carefully in the dresserdrawer. "Noo aboot the dinner o' they twa turtledoves in the parlor?" he

continued, directing his attention to the dinner tray. "I maun joost see that the cook's;'s dune her dutythe

creatures are no' capable o' decidin' that knotty point for their ain selves." He took off one of the covers, and

picked bits, here and there, out of the dish with the fork " Eh! eh! the collops are no' that bad!" He took off

another cover, and shook his head in solemn doubt. "Here's the green meat. I doot green meat's windy diet for

a man at my time o' life!" He put the cover on again, and tried the next dish. "The fesh? What the de'il does

the woman fry the trout for? Boil it next time, ye betch, wi' a pinch o' saut and a spunefu' o' vinegar." He

drew the cork from a bottle of sherry, and decanted the wine. "The sherry wine?" he said, in tones of deep

feeling, holding the decanter up to the light. "Hoo do I know but what it may be corkit? I maun taste and try.

It's on my conscience, as an honest man, to taste and try." He forthwith relieved his consciencecopiously.

There was a vacant space, of no inconsiderable dimensions, left in the decanter. Mr. Bishopriggs gravely

filled it up from the waterbottle. "Eh ! it's joost addin' ten years to the age o' the wine. The turtledoves will

be nane the waurand I mysel' am a glass o' sherry the better. Praise Providence for a' its maircies!" Having

relieved himself of that devout aspiration, he took up the tray again, and decided on letting the turtledoves

The conversation in the parlor (dropped for the moment) had been renewed, in the absence of Mr.

Bishopriggs. Too restless to remain long in one place, Anne had risen again from the sofa, and had rejoined

"Where do your friends at Lady Lundie's believe you to be now?" she asked, abruptly.

"I am believed," replied Arnold, "to be meeting my tenants, and taking possession of my estate."

"By railway, I suppose. Bytheby, what excuse am I to make for going away after dinner? We are sure to

have the landlady in here before long. What will she say to my going off by myself to the train, and leaving

"You may leave your excuse to me," pursued Anne. "Do you go by the up train, or the down?"

The door opened suddenly; and Mr. Bishopriggs appeared with the dinner. Anne nervously separated herself

from Arnold. The one available eye of Mr. Bishopriggs followed her reproachfully, as he put the dishes on

"I warned ye baith, it was a clean impossibility to knock at the door this time. Don't blame me, young

"Where will you sit?" asked Arnold, by way of diverting Anne's attention from the familiarities of Father

"Any where!" she answered, impatiently; snatchi ng up a chair, and placing it at the bottom of the table.

"Lord's sake! what are ye doin'? It's clean contrary to a' the laws and customs o' the honeymune, to sit as far

He waved his persuasive napkin to one of the two chairs placed close together at the table.

Arnold interfered once more, and prevented another outbreak of impatience from Anne.

"Get it over as soon as you can," she returned. "I can't, and won't, bear it much longer."

They took their places at the table, with Father Bishopriggs behind them, in the mixed character of major

"Here's the trout!" he cried, taking the cover off with a flourish. "Half an hour since, he was loupin' in the

water. There he lies noo, fried in the dish. An emblem o' human life for ye! When ye can spare any leisure

Arnold took up the spoon, to give Anne one of the trout. Mr. Bishopriggs clapped the cover on the dish again,

Mr. Bishopriggs piously closed his available eye, and held the cover firmly on the dish. "For what ye're gaun'

to receive, may ye baith be truly thankful!" He opened his available eye, and whipped the cover off again.

"Eh! but I'm here to wait," objected Mr. Bishopriggs. "What's the use o' my gaun' away, when ye'll want me

anon to change the plates for ye?" He considered for a moment (privately consulting his experience) and

arrived at a satisfactory conclusion as to Arnold's motive for wanting to get rid of him. "Tak' her on yer

knee," he whispered in Arnold's ear, "as soon as ye like! Feed him at the fork's end," he added to Anne,

"whenever ye please! I'll think of something else, and look out at the proaspect." He winkedand went to

"Come! come! " said Arnold to Anne. "There's a comic side to all this. Try and see it as I do."

Mr. Bishopriggs returned from the window, and announced the appearance of a new element of

"My certie!" he said, "it's weel ye cam' when ye did. It's ill getting to this hottle in a storm."

"Eh! ye're well hoosed hereye needn't mind it. There's the cloud down the valley," he added, pointing out

of the window," coming up one way, when the wind's blawing the other. The storm's brewing, my leddy,

There was another knock at the door. As Arnold had predicted, the landlady made her appearance on the

"I ha' just lookit in, Sir," said Mrs. Inchbare, addressing herself exclusively to Arnold, "to see ye've got what

Mistress Inchbare had her own private motive for entering the room, and came to it without further preface.

"Ye'll excuse me, Sir," she proceeded. "I wasna in the way when ye cam' here, or I suld ha' made bauld to ask

ye the question which I maun e'en ask noo. Am I to understand that ye hire these rooms for yersel', and this

Anne raised her head to speak. Arnold pressed her hand warningly, under the table, and silenced her.

"This gentleman?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare, with a broad stare of surprise. "I'm only a puir woman, my

Arnold's warning hand touched Anne's, for the third time. Mistress Inchbare's eyes remained fixed on her in

merciless inquiry. To have given utterance to the contradiction which trembled on her lips would have been

to involve Arnold (after all that he had sacrificed for her) in the scandal which would inevitably followa

scandal which would be talked of in the neighborhood, and which might find its way to Blanche's ears. White

and cold, her eyes never moving from the table, she accepted the landlady's implied correction, and faintly

Mistress Inchbare drew a breath of virtuous relief, and waited for what Anne had to say next. Arnold came

"Never mind," he said to Anne; "I know what it is, and I'll see about it. She's always like this, ma'am, when a

storm's coming," he went on, turning to the landlady. "No, thank youI know how to manage her. Well send

"At yer ain pleasure, Sir, " answered Mistress Inchbare. She turned, and apologized to Anne (under protest),

with a stiff courtesy. "No offense, my leddy! Ye'll remember that ye cam' here alane, and that the hottle has

its ain gude name to keep up." Having once more vindicated "the hottle," she made the longdesired move to

There was no water on the table. Arnold ordered it of Mr. Bishopriggswho had remained passive in the

background (a model of discreet attention) as long as the mistress was in the room.

"Mr. Brinkworth!" said Anne, when they were alone, "you are acting with inexcusable rashness. That

woman's question was an impertinence. Why did you answer it? Why did you force me?"

She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Arnold insisted on her drinking a glass of wineand then

defended himself with the patient consideration for her which he had shown from the first.

"Why didn't I have the inn door shut in your face"he asked, good humoredly"with a storm coming on,

and without a place in which you can take refuge? No, no, Miss Silvester! I don't presume to blame you for

any scruples you may feelbut scruples are sadly out of place with such a woman as that landlady. I am

responsible for your safety to Geoffrey; and Geoffrey expects to find you here. Let's change the subject. The

water is a long time coming. Try another glass of wine. No? Wellhere is Blanche's health" (he took some

of the wine himself), "in the weakest sherry I ever drank in my life." As he set down his glass, Mr.

Bishopriggs came in with the water. Arnold hailed him satirically. "Well? have you got the water? or have

Mr. Bishopriggs stopped in the middle of the room, thunderstruck at the aspersion cast on the wine.

"Is that the way ye talk of the auldest bottle o' sherry wine in Scotland?" he asked, gravely. "What's the warld

coming to? The new generation's a foot beyond my fathoming. The maircies o' Providence, as shown to man

"I ha' brought the waterand mair than the water. I ha' brought ye news from ootside. There's a company o'

gentlemen on horseback, joost cantering by to what they ca' the shootin' cottage, a mile from this."

"Bide a wee! There's ane o' them has drawn bridle at the hottle, and he's speerin' after the leddy that cam' here

alane. The leddy's your leddy, as sure as saxpence. I doot," said Mr. Bishopriggs, walking away to the

"There he is, any way," resumed Mr. Bishopriggs, at the window. "He's loupin' down from his horse. He's

turning this way. Lord save us!" he exclaimed, with a start of consternation, "what do I see? That incarnate

He was Blanche's g uardian, and he believed Arnold to be at that moment visiting his new property. What he

would think was not difficult to foresee. Arnold turned for help to Mr. Bishopriggs.

Mr. Bishopriggs expressed the utmost extremity of human amazement by a long whistle, on one note.

"Eh! there's my paintry! I trow that's some other place; and the door's at the end o' the passage."

Arnold hurried out. Mr. Bishopriggsevidently under the impression that the case before him was a case of

elopement, with Sir Patrick mixed up in it in the capacity of guardianaddressed himself, in friendly

"My certie, mistress! it's ill wark deceivin' Sir Paitrick, if that's what ye've dune. Ye must know, I was ance a

The voice of Mistress Inchbare, calling for the headwaiter, rose shrill and imperative from the regions of the

bar. Mr. Bishopriggs disappeared. Anne remained, standing helpless by the window. It was plain by this time

that the place of her retreat had been discovered at Windygates. The one doubt to decide, now, was whether it

would be wise or not to receive Sir Patrick, for the purpose of discovering whether he came as friend or

THE doubt was practically decided before Anne had determined what to do. She was still at the window

when the sittingroom door was thrown open, and Sir Patrick appeared, obsequiously shown in by Mr.

"Ye're kindly welcome, Sir Paitrick. Hech, Sirs! the sight of you is gude for sair eyne."

Sir Patrick turned and looked at Mr. Bishopriggsas he might have looked at some troublesome insect

Mr. Bishopriggs rubbed his hands cheerfully, and took his tone from his superior, with supple readiness

"Ye're always in the right of it, Sir Paitrick! Wut, raal wut in that aboot the honest employment, and me

"I am committing an intrusion, madam which must, I am afraid, appear unpardonable in your eyes," he said.

He spoke with scrupulous politeness. His knowledge of Anne was of the slightest possible kind. Like other

men, he had felt the attraction of her unaffected grace and gentleness on the few occasions when he had been

in her companyand that was all. If he had belonged to the present generation he would, under the

circumstances, have fallen into one of the besetting sins of England in these daysthe tendency (to borrow

an illustration from the stage) to "strike an attitude" in the presence of a social emergency. A man of the

present period, in Sir Patrick's position, would have struck an attitude of (what is called) chivalrous respect;

and would have addressed Anne in a tone of readymade sympathy, which it was simply impossible for a

stranger really to feel. Sir Patrick affected nothing of the sort. One of the besetting sins of his time was the

habitual concealment of our better selvesupon the whole, a far less dangerous national error than the

habitual advertisement of our better selves, which has become the practice, public and privately, of society in

this age. Sir Patrick assumed, if anything, less sympathy on this occasion than he really felt. Courteous to all

"I am quite at a loss, Sir, to know what brings you to this place. The servant here informs me that you are one

of a party of gentlemen who have just passed by the inn, and who have all gone on except yourself." In those

guarded terms Anne opened the interview with the unwelcome visitor, on her side.

"The servant is quite right," he said. "I am one of the party. And I have purposely allowed them to go on to

the keeper's cottage without me. Having admitted this, may I count on receiving your permission to explain

Necessarily suspicious of him, as coming from Windygates, Anne answered in few and formal words, as

Sir Patrick bowed. He was not in the least offended; he was even (if the confession may be made without

degrading him in the public estimation) privately amused. Conscious of having honestly presented himself at

the inn in Anne's interests, as well as in the interests of the ladies at Windygates, it appealed to his sense of

humor to find himself kept at arm'slength by the very woman whom he had come to benefit. The temptation

was strong on him to treat his errand from his own whimsical point of view. He gravely took out his watch,

"I have an event to relate in which you are interested," he said. "And I have two messages to deliver, which I

hope you will not object to receive. The event I undertake to describe in one minute. The messages I promise

to dispose of in two minutes more. Total duration of this intrusion on your timethree minutes."

He placed a chair for Anne, and waited until she had permitted him, by a sign, to take a second chair for

"We will begin with the event," he resumed. "Your arrival at this place is no secret at Windygates. You were

seen on the footroad to Craig Fernie by one of the female servants. And the inference naturally drawn is,

that you were on your way to the inn. It may be important for you to know this; and I have taken the liberty of

mentioning it accordingly." He consulted his watch. "Event related. Time, one minute."

He had excited her curiosity, to begin with. "Which of the women saw me?" she asked, impulsively.

Sir Patrick (watch in hand) declined to prolong the interview by answering any incidental inquiries which

"Pardon me," he rejoined; "I am pledged to occupy three minutes only. I have no room for the woman. With

"First message: 'Lady Lundie's compliments to her stepdaughter's late governesswith whose married

name she is not acquainted. Lady Lundie regrets to say that Sir Patrick, as head of the family, has threatened

to return to Edinburgh, unless she consents to be guided by his advice in the course she pursues with the late

governess. Lady Lundie, accordingly, foregoes her intention of calling at the Craig Fernie inn, to express her

sentiments and make her inquiries in person, and commits to Sir Patrick the duty of expressing her

sentiments; reserving to herself the right of making her inquiries at the next convenient opportunity. Through

the medium of her brotherinlaw, she begs to inform the late governess that all intercourse is at an end

between them, and that she declines to act as reference in case of future emergency.'Message textually

correct. Expressive of Lady Lundie's view of your sudden departure from the house. Time, two minutes."

"The impertinence of Lady Lundie's message is no more than I should have expected from her," she said. "I

"Sir Patrick's motives will appear presently," rejoined the incorrigible old gentleman. "Second message:

'Blanche's fondest love. Is dying to be acquainted with Anne's husband, and to be informed of Anne's married

name. Feels indescribable anxiety and apprehension on Anne's account. Insists on hearing from Anne

immediately. Longs, as she never longed for any thing yet, to order her ponychaise and drive full gallop to

the inn. Yields, under irresistible pressure, to t he exertion of her guardian's authority, and commits the

expression of her feelings to Sir Patrick, who is a born tyrant, and doesn't in the least mind breaking other

people's hearts.' Sir Patrick, speaking for himself, places his sisterinlaw's view and his niece's view, side by

side, before the lady whom he has now the honor of addressing, and on whose confidence he is especially

careful not to intrude. Reminds the lady that his influence at Windygates, however strenuously he may exert

it, is not likely to last forever. Requests her to consider whether his sisterinlaw's view and his niece's view

in collision, may not lead to very undesirable domestic results; and leaves her to take the course which seems

best to herself under those circumstances.Second message delivered textually. Time, three minutes. A

storm coming on. A quarter of an hour's ride from here to the shootingcottage. Madam, I wish you

Anne's first impulse was (excusably enough, poor soul) an impulse of resentment.

"Thank you, Sir Patrick!" she said, with a bitter look at the closing door. "The sympathy of society with a

The little irritation of the moment passed off with the moment. Anne's own intelligence and good sense

She recognized in Sir Patrick's abrupt departure Sir Patrick's considerate resolution to spare her from entering

into any details on the subject of her position at the inn. He had given her a friendly warning; and he had

delicately left her to decide for herself as to the assistance which she might render him in maintaining

tranquillity at Windygates. She went at once to a sidetable in the room, on which writing materials were

"I can do nothing with Lady Lundie," she thought. "But I have more influence than any body else over

She began the letter. "My dearest Blanche, I have seen Sir Patrick, and he has given me your message. I will

set your mind at ease about me as soon as I can. But, before I say any thing else, let me entreat you, as the

greatest favor you can do to your sister and your friend, not to enter into any disputes about me with Lady

Lundie, and not to commit the imprudencethe useless imprudence, my loveof coming here." She

stoppedthe paper swam before her eyes. "My own darling!" she thought, "who could have foreseen that I

should ever shrink from the thought of seeing you?" She sighed, and dipped the pen in the ink, and went on

The sky darkened rapidly as the evening fell. The wind swept in fainter and fainter gusts across the dreary

moor. Far and wide over the face of Nature the stillness was fast falling which tells of a coming storm.

MEANWHILE Arnold remained shut up in the headwaiter's pantrychafing secretly at the position forced

He was, for the first time in his life, in hiding from another person, and that person a man. Twicestung to it

by the inevitable loss of selfrespect which his situation occasionedhe had gone to the door, determined to

face Sir Patrick boldly; and twice he had abandoned the idea, in mercy to Anne. It would have been

impossible for him to set himself right with Blanche's guardian without betraying the unhappy woman whose

secret he was bound in honor to keep. "I wish to Heaven I had never come here!" was the useless aspiration

that escaped him, as he doggedly seated himself on the dresser to wait till Sir Patrick's departure set him free.

After an intervalnot by any means the long interval which he had anticipatedhis solitude was enlivened

There were occasions when Mr. Bishopriggs became, on a sudden, unexpectedly hard of hearing, This was

"Hoo do ye find the paintry?" he asked, without paying the slightest attention to Arnold's question. "Snug and

His one available eye, which had begun by looking at Arnold's face, dropped slowly downward, and fixed

"I understand!" said Arnold. "I promised to pay you for the Patmoseh? There you are!"

Mr. Bishopriggs pocketed the money with a dreary smile and a sympathetic shake of the head. Other waiters

would have returned thanks. The sage of Craig Fernie returned a few brief remarks instead. Admirable in

many things, Father Bishopriggs was especially great at drawing a moral. He drew a moral on this occasion

"There I amas ye say. Mercy presairve us! ye need the siller at every turn, when there's a woman at yer

heels. It's an awfu' reflectionye canna hae any thing to do wi' the sex they ca' the opposite sex without its

being an expense to ye. There's this young leddy o' yours, I doot she'll ha' been an expense to ye from the

first. When you were coortin' her, ye did it, I'll go bail, wi' the open hand. Presents and keepsakes, flowers

The reflections of Mr. Bishopriggs declined to be disposed of in any thing approaching to a summary way.

"Noo ye're married to her, there's her bonnets and goons and underclothin'her ribbons, laces, furbelows,

"Thirdly, and lastly, if ye canna agree wi' her as time gaes onif there's incompaitibeelity of temper betwixt

yein short, if ye want a wee bit separation, hech, Sirs! ye pet yer hand in yer poaket, and come to an

aimicable understandin' wi' her in that way. Or, maybe she takes ye into Court, and pets her hand in your

poaket, and comes to a hoastile understandin' wi' ye there. Show me a womanand I'll show ye a man not

far off wha' has mair expenses on his back than he ever bairgained for." Arnold's patience would last no

longerhe turned to the door. Mr. Bishopriggs, with equal alacrity on his side, turned to the matter in hand.

"Yes, Sir! The room is e'en clear o' Sir Paitrick, and the leddy's alane, and waitin' for ye."

Anne closed and directed the letter to Blanche, which she had just completed. "No," she replied. "Nothing to

"Not in the least. I can manage perfectly; I have nothing to fear. Don't think of methink of yourself."

"Thank heavenno. But there is no knowing what may happen if you stay here. Ring the bell at once, and

Struck by the unusual obscurity of the sky at that hour of the evening, Arnold went to the window. The rain

had comeand was falling heavily. The view on the moor was fast disappearing in mist and darkness.

"The railway!" Anne exclaimed, impatiently. "It's getting late. See about the railway!"

Arnold walked to the fireplace to ring the bell. The railway timetable hanging over it met his eye.

"Here's the information I want," he said to Anne; "if I only knew how to get at it. 'Down''Up''A. M.'P.

Arnold told her. She followed the intricate network of lines and figures with her fingersuddenly

stoppedlooked again to make sureand turned from the timetable with a face of blank despair. The last

In the silence which followed that discovery, a first flash of lightning passed across the window and the low

In the face of the storm, Anne answered without hesitation, "You must take a carriage, and drive."

"Drive? They told me it was threeandtwenty miles, by railway, from the station to my placelet alone the

A second flash of lightning crossed the window; the roll of the thunder came nearer. Even Arnold's good

temper began to be a little ruffled by Anne's determination to get rid of him. He sat down with the air of a

"Do you hear that?" he asked, as the sound of the thunder died away grandly, and the hard pattering of the

rain on the window became audible once more. "If I ordered horses, do you think they would let me have

them, in such weather as this? And, if they did, do you suppose the horses could face it on the moor? No, no,

Miss SilvesterI am sorry to be in the way, but the train has gone, and the night and the storm have come. I

Anne still maintained her own view, but less resolutely than before. "After what you have told the landlady,"

she said, "think of the embarrassment, the cruel embarrassment of our position, if you stop at the inn till

Anne looked up at him, quickly and angrily. No! he was quite unconscious of having said any thing that

could offend her. His rough masculine sense broke its way unconsciously through all the little feminine

subtleties and delicacies of his companion, and looked the position practically in the face for what it was

worth, and no more. "Where's the embarrassment?" he asked, pointing to the bedroom door. "There's your

room, all ready for you. And here's the sofa, in this room, all ready for me. If you had seen the places I have

She interrupted him, without ceremony. The places he had slept in, at sea, were of no earthly importance. The

"If you must stay," she rejoined, "can't you get a room in some other part of the house?"

But one last mistake in dealing with her, in her present nervous condition, was left to makeand the

innocent Arnold made it. "In some other part of the house?" he repeated, jestingly. "The landlady would be

She rose, and stamped her foot impatiently on the floor. "Don't joke!" she exclaimed. "This is no laughing

She threw herself on the sofa again. "Yes," she said, shortly. "It's the storm."

"Shall we have the candles," he suggested, "and shut the weather out?" She turned irritably on the sofa,

without replying. "I'll promise to go away the first thing in the morning!" he went on. "Do try and take it

easyand don't be angry with me. Come! come! you wouldn't turn a dog out, Miss Silvester, on such a night

He was irresistible. The most sensitive woman breathing could not have accused him of failing toward her in

any single essential of consideration and respect. He wanted tact, poor fellowbut who could expect him to

have learned that always superficial (and sometimes dangerous) accomplishment, in the life he had led at sea?

At the sight of his honest, pleading face, Anne recovered possession of her gentler and sweeter self. She made

her excuses for her irritability with a grace that enchanted him. "We'll have a pleasant evening of it yet!"

The bell was hung outside the door of that Patmos in the wildernessotherwise known as the headwaiter's

pantry. Mr. Bishopriggs (employing his brief leisure in the seclusion of his own apartment) had just mixed a

glass of the hot and comforting liquor called "toddy" in the language of North Britain, and was just lifting it

"Haud yer screechin' tongue! " cried Mr. Bishopriggs, addressing the bell through the door. "Ye're waur than

The belllike the womanwent on again. Mr. Bishopriggs, equally pertinacious, went on with his toddy.

"Ay! ay! ye may e'en ring yer heart outbut ye won't part a Scotchman from his glass. It's maybe the end of

their dinner they'll be wantin'. Sir Paitrick cam' in at the fair beginning of it, and spoilt the collops, like the

dour deevil he is!" The bell rang for the third time. "Ay! ay! ring awa'! I doot yon young gentleman's little

better than a bellygodthere's a scandalous haste to comfort the carnal part o' him in a' this ringin'! He

knows naething o' wine," added Mr. Bishopriggs, on whose mind Arnold's discovery of the watered sherry

The lightning quickened, and lit the sittingroom horribly with its lurid glare; the thunder rolled nearer and

nearer over the black gulf of the moor. Arnold had just raised his hand to ring for the fourth time, when the

inevitable knock was heard at the door. It was useless to say "come in." The immutable laws of Bishopriggs

had decided that a second knock was necessary. Storm or no storm, the second knock cameand then, and

not till then, the sage appeared, with the dish of untasted "collops" in his hand.

Mr. Bishopriggs set the "collops" (in the language of England, minced meat) upon the table, lit the candles on

the mantlepiece, faced about with the fire of recent toddy flaming in his nose, and waited for further orders,

before he went back to his second glass. Anne declined to return to the dinner. Arnold ordered Mr.

"It looks greasy, and smells greasy," he said to Anne, turning over the collops with a spoon. "I won't be ten

"I have got it!" he exclaimed. "We'll kill the time as our cabinpassengers used to kill it at sea." He looked

"What's that ye're wantin'?" asked Mr. Bishopriggs, doubting the evidence of his own senses.

"Cairds?" echoed Mr. Bishopriggs. "A pack o' cairds? The deevil's allegories in the deevil's own colorsred

and black! I wunna execute yer order. For yer ain saul's sake, I wunna do it. Ha' ye lived to your time o' life,

and are ye no' awakened yet to the awfu' seenfulness o' gamblin' wi' the cairds?"

"Just as you please," returned Arnold. "You will find me awakenedwhen I go awayto the awful folly of

"Does that mean that ye're bent on the cairds?" asked Mr. Bishopriggs, suddenly betraying signs of worldly

"I tak' up my testimony against 'embut I'm no' telling ye that I canna lay my hand on 'em if I like. What do

they say in my country? 'Him that will to Coupar, maun to Coupar.' And what do they say in your country?

'Needs must when the deevil drives.' " With that excellent reason for turning his back on his own principles,

The dresserdrawer in the pantry contained a choice selection of miscellaneous objectsa pack of cards

being among them. In searching for the cards, the wary hand of the headwaiter came in contact with a

morsel of crumpledup paper. He drew it out, and recognized the letter which he had picked up in the

"Ay! ay! I'll do weel, I trow, to look at this while my mind's runnin' on it," said Mr. Bishopriggs. "The cairds

He forthwith sent the cards to Arnold by his second in command, closed the pantry door, and carefully

smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper on which the two letters were written. This done, he trimmed his

candle, and began with the letter in ink, which occupied the first three pages of the sheet of notepaper.

"GEOFFREY DELAMAYN,I have waited in the hope that you would ride over from your brother's place,

and see meand I have waited in vain. Your conduct to me is cruelty itself; I will bear it no longer.

Consider! in your own interests, considerbefore you drive the miserable woman who has trusted you to

despair. You have promised me marriage by all that is sacred. I claim your promise. I insist on nothing less

than to be what you vowed I should bewhat I have waited all this weary time to bewhat I am, in the

sight of Heaven, your wedded wife. Lady Lundie gives a lawnparty here on the 14th. I know you have been

asked. I expect you to accept her invitation. If I don't see you, I won't answer for what may happen. My mind

is made up to endure this suspense no longer. Oh, Geoffrey, remember the past! Be faithfulbe justto

Mr. Bishopriggs paused. His commentary on the correspondence, so far, was simple enough. "Hot words (in

ink) from the leddy to the gentleman!" He ran his eye over the second letter, on the fourth page of the paper,

and added, cynically, "A trifle caulder (in pencil) from the gentleman to the leddy! The way o' the warld,

"DEAR ANNE,Just called to London to my father. They have telegraphed him in a bad way. Stop where

you are, and I will write you. Trust the bearer. Upon my soul, I'll keep my promise. Your loving husband that

"Who are the pairties in the parlor? Is ane o' them 'Silvester?' and t'other 'Delamayn?' " pondered Mr.

Bishopriggs, slowly folding the letter up again in its original form. "Hech, Sirs! what, being intairpreted, may

He mixed himself a second glass of toddy, as an aid to reflection, and sat sipping the liquor, and twisting and

turning the letter in his gouty fingers. It was not easy to see his way to the true connection between the lady

and gentleman in the parlor and the two letters now in his own possession. They might be themselves the

writers of the letters, or they might be only friends of the writers. Who was to decide?

In the first case, the lady's object would appear to have been as good as gained; for the two had certainly

asserted themselves to be man and wife, in his own presence, and in the presence of the landlady. In the

second case, the correspondence so carelessly thrown aside might, for all a stranger knew to the contrary,

prove to be of some importance in the future. Acting on this latter view, Mr. Bishopriggswhose past

experience as "a bit clerk body," in Sir Patrick's chambers, had made a man of business of himproduced

his pen and ink, and indorsed the letter with a brief dated statement of the circumstances under which he had

found it. "I'll do weel to keep the Doecument," he thought to himself. "Wha knows but there'll be a reward

offered for it ane o' these days? Eh! eh! there may be the warth o' a fi' pun' note in this, to a puir lad like me!"

With that comforting reflection, he drew out a battered tin cashbox from the inner recesses of the drawer,

In the sittingroom, the state of affairs, perpetually changing, now presented itself under another new aspect.

Arnold had finished his dinner, and had sent it away. He had next drawn a sidetable up to the sofa on which

Anne layhad shuffled the pack of cardsand was now using all his powers of persuasion to induce her to

try one game at Ecart� with him, by way of diverting her attention from the tumult of the storm. In sheer

weariness, she gave up contesting the matter; and, raising herself languidly on the sofa, said she would try to

play. "Nothing can make matters worse than they are," she thought, despairingly, as Arnold dealt the cards

for her. "Nothing can justify my inflicting my own wretchedness on this kindhearted boy!"

Two worse players never probably sat down to a game. Anne's attention perpetually wandered; and Anne's

companion was, in all human probability, the most incapable cardplayer in Europe.

Anne turned up the trumpthe nine of Diamonds. Arnold looked at his handand "proposed." Anne

declined to change the cards. Arnold announced, with undiminished goodhumor, that he saw his way

clearly, now, to losing the game, and then played his first cardthe Queen of Trumps!

Anne took it with the King, and forgot to declare the King. She played the ten of Trumps.

Arnold unexpectedly discovered the eight of Trumps in his hand. "What a pity!" he said, as he played it.

"Hullo! you haven't marked the King! I'll do it for you. That's twono, threeto you. I said I should lose

the game. Couldn't be expected to do any thing (could I?) with such a hand as mine. I've lost every thing now

Anne looked at her hand. At the same moment the lightning flashed into the room through the illclosed

shutters; the roar of the thunder burst over the house, and shook it to its foundation. The screaming of some

hysterical female tourist, and the barking of a dog, rose shrill from the upper floor of the inn. Anne's nerves

could support it no longer. She flung her cards on the table, and sprang to her feet.

"I can play no more," she said. "Forgive meI am quite unequal to it. My head burns! my heart stifles me!"

She began to pace the room again. Aggravated by the effect of the storm on her nerves, her first vague

distrust of the false position into which she and Arnold had allowed themselves to drift had strengthened, by

this time, into a downright horror of their situation which was not to be endured. Nothing could justify such a

risk as the risk they were now running! They had dined together like married peopleand there they were, at

"Oh, Mr. Brinkworth!" she pleaded. "Thinkfor Blanche's sake, thinkis there no way out of this?"

"Blanche, again?" he said, with the most exasperating composure. "I wonder how she feels, in this storm?"

In Anne's excited state, the reply almost maddened her. She turned from Arnold, and hurried to the door.

"I don't care!" she cried, wildly. "I won't let this deception go on. I'll do what I ought to have done before.

She had opened the door, and was on the point of stepping into the passagewhen she stopped, and started

violently. Was it possible, in that dreadful weather, that she had actually heard the sound of carriage wheels

Yes! others had heard the sound too. The hobbling figure of Mr. Bishopriggs passed her in the passage,

making for the house door. The hard voice of the landlady rang through the inn, ejaculating astonishment in

broad Scotch. Anne closed the sittingroom door again, and turned to Arnoldwho had risen, in surprise, to

"Can it be Geoffrey?" she askedgoing back to the old vain delusion that he might yet feel for her, and

Mrs. Inchbare suddenly entered the roomwith her capribb ons flying, her eyes staring, and her bones

"Eh, mistress!" she said to Anne. "Wha do ye think has driven here to see ye, from Windygates Hoose, and

"Wha is't?" repeated Mrs. Inchbare. "It's joost the bonny young leddyMiss Blanche hersel'."

An irrepressible cry of horror burst from Anne. The landlady set it down to the lightning, which flashed into

"Eh, mistress! ye'll find Miss Blanche a bit baulder than to skirl at a flash o' lightning, that gait! Here she is,

the bonny birdie!" exclaimed Mrs. Inchbare, deferentially backing out into the passage again.

Anne caught Arnold by the hand and wrung it hard. "Go!" she whispered. The next instant she was at the

Another flash of lightning came through the darkness, and showed Blanche's figure standing at the door.

MRS. INCHBARE was the first person who acted in the emergency. She called for lights; and sternly

rebuked the housemaid, who brought them, for not having closed the house door. "Ye feckless

The woman declared (with perfect truth) that the door had been closed. An awkward dispute might have

ensued if Blanche had not diverted Mrs. Inchbare's attention to herself. The appearance of the lights disclosed

her, wet through with her arms round Anne's neck. Mrs. Inchbare digressed at once to the pressing question

of changing the young lady's clothes, and gave Anne the opportunity of looking round her, unobserved.

"Good gracious! I'm absolutely distilling rain from every part of me. And I'm making you, Anne, as wet as I

am! Lend me some dry things. You can't? Mrs. Inchbare, what does your experience suggest? Which had I

better do? Go to bed while my clothes are being dried? or borrow from your wardrobethough you are a

Mrs. Inchbare instantly bustled out to fetch the choicest garments that her wardrobe could produce. The

The rights of affection having been already asserted, the claims of curiosity naturally pressed for satisfaction

"Somebody passed me in the dark," she whispered. "Was it your husband? I'm dying to be introduced to him.

"Has any thing unpleasant happened between you and my uncle? You have seen him, haven't you?"

"He gave me your message.Blanche! you promised him to stay at Windygates. Why, in the name of

"If you were half as fond of me as I am of you," returned Blanche, "you wouldn't ask that. I tried hard to keep

my promise, but I couldn't do it. It was all very well, while my uncle was laying down the lawwith Lady

Lundie in a rage, and the dogs barking, and the doors banging, and all that. The excitement kept me up. But

when my uncle had gone, and the dreadful gray, quiet, rainy evening came, and it had all calmed down again,

there was no bearing it. The housewithout youwas like a tomb. If I had had Arnold with me I might

have done very well. But I was all by myself. Think of that! Not a soul to speak to! There wasn't a horrible

thing that could possibly happen to you that I didn't fancy was going to happen. I went into your empty room

and looked at your things. That settled it, my darling! I rushed down stairscarried away, positively carried

away, by an Impulse beyond human resistance. How could I help it? I ask any reasonable person how could I

help it? I ran to the stables and found Jacob. Impulseall impulse! I said, 'Get the ponychaiseI must

have a driveI don't care if it rainsyou come with me.' All in a breath, and all impulse! Jacob behaved

like an angel. He said, 'All right, miss.' I am perfectly certain Jacob would die for me if I asked him. He is

drinking hot grog at this moment, to prevent him from catching cold, by my express orders. He had the

ponychaise out in two minutes; and off we went. Lady Lundie, my dear, prostrate in her own roomtoo

much sal volatile. I hate her. The rain got worse. I didn't mind it. Jacob didn't mind it. The pony didn't mind

it. They had both caught my impulseespecially the pony. It didn't come on to thunder till some time

afterward; and then we were nearer Craig Fernie than Windygatesto say nothing of your being at one place

and not at the other. The lightning was quite awful on the moor. If I had had one of the horses, he would have

been frightened. The pony shook his darling little head, and dashed through it. He is to have beer. A mash

with beer in itby my express orders. When he has done we'll borrow a lantern, and go into the stable, and

kiss him. In the mean time, my dear, here I amwet through in a thunderstorm, which doesn't in the least

matterand determined to satisfy my own mind about you, which matters a great deal, and must and shall be

"I knew it!" she said. "You would never have kept the most interesting event in your life a secret from

meyou would never have written me such a cold formal letter as the letter you left in your roomif there

had not been something wrong. I said so at the time. I know it now! Why has your husband forced you to

leave Windygates at a moment's notice? Why does he slip out of the room in the dark, as if he was afraid of

being seen? Anne! Anne! what has come to you? Why do you receive me in this way?"

At that critical moment Mrs. Inchbare reappeared, with the choicest selection of wearing apparel which her

wardrobe could furnish. Anne hailed the welcome interruption. She took the candles, and led the way into the

The bedroom door had hardly been closed a minute before there was a tap at it. Signing to Mrs. Inchbare not

to interrupt the services she was rendering to Blanche, Anne passed quickly into the sittingroom, and closed

the door behind her. To her infinite relief, she only found herself face to face with the discreet Mr.

The eye of Mr. Bishopriggs announced, by a wink, that his mission was of a confidential nature. The hand of

Mr. Bishopriggs wavered; the breath of Mr. Bishopriggs exhaled a spirituous fume. He slowly produced a

"From ye ken who," he explained, jocosely. "A bit loveletter, I trow, from him that's dear to ye. Eh! he's an

awfu' reprobate is him that's dear to ye. Miss, in the bedchamber there, will nae doot be the one he's jilted for

you? I see it allye can't blind MeI ha' been a frail person my ain self, in my time. Hech! he's safe and

sound, is the reprobate. I ha' lookit after a' his little creaturecomfortsI'm joost a fether to him, as well as a

fether to you. Trust Bishopriggswhen puir human nature wants a bit pat on the back, trust Bishopriggs."

While the sage was speaking these comfortable words, Anne was reading the lines traced on the paper. They

"I am in the smokingroom of the inn. It rests with you to say whether I must stop there. I don't believe

Blanche would be jealous. If I knew how to explain my being at the inn without betraying the confidence

which you and Geoffrey have placed in me, I wouldn't be away from her another moment. It does grate on me

so! At the same time, I don't want to make your position harder than it is. Think of yourself f irst. I leave it in

your hands. You have only to say, Wait, by the bearerand I shall understand that I am to stay where I am

"Wi' mony loves and kisses," suggested Mr. Bishopriggs, as a necessary supplement to the message." Eh! it

comes as easy as A. B. C. to a man o' my experience. Ye can ha' nae better gaebetween than yer puir servant

to command, Sawmuel Bishopriggs. I understand ye baith pairfeckly." He laid his forefinger along his

Without allowing herself to hesitate for an instant, Anne opened the bedroom doorwith the resolution of

At the sound of her voice, Anne started back guiltily. "I'll be with you in a moment," she answered, and

No! it was not to be done. Something in Blanche's trivial questionor something, perhaps, in the sight of

Blanche's faceroused the warning instinct in Anne, which silenced her on the very brink of the disclosure.

At the last moment the iron chain of circumstances made itself felt, binding her without mercy to the hateful,

the degrading deceit. Could she own the truth, about Geoffrey and herself, to Blanche? and, without owning

it, could she explain and justify Arnold's conduct in joining her privately at Craig Fernie? A shameful

confession made to an innocent girl; a risk of fatally shaking Arnold's place in Blanche's estimation; a scandal

at the inn, in the disgrace of which the others would be involved with herselfthis was the price at which

she must speak, if she followed her first impulse, and said, in so many words, "Arnold is here."

It was not to be thought of. Cost what it might in present wretchednessend how it might, if the deception

was discovered in the futureBlanche must be kept in ignorance of the truth, Arnold must be kept in hiding

The business of the toilet was standing still. Blanche was in confidential communication with Mrs. Inchbare.

At the moment when Anne entered the room she was eagerly questioning the landlady about her friend's

The capacity for accurate observation is a capacity so uncommon, and is so seldom associated, even where it

does exist, with the equally rare gift of accurately describing the thing or the person observed, that Anne's

dread of the consequences if Mrs. Inchbare was allowed time to comply with Blanches request, was, in all

probability, a dread misplaced. Right or wrong, however, the alarm that she felt hurried her into taking

measures for dismissing the landlady on the spot. "We mustn't keep you from your occupations any longer,"

Barred from advancing in one direction, Blanche's curiosity turned back, and tried in another. She boldly

"I must know something about him," she said. "Is he shy before strangers? I heard you whispering with him

on the other side of the door. Are you jealous, Anne? Are you afraid I shall fascinate him in this dress?"

Blanche, in Mrs. Inchbare's best gownan ancient and highwaisted silk garment, of the hue called

"bottlegreen," pinned up in front, and trailing far behind herwith a short, orangecolored shawl over her

shoulders, and a towel tied turban fashion round her head, to dry her wet hair, looked at once the strangest

and the prettiest human anomaly that ever was seen. "For heaven's sake," she said, gayly, "don't tell your

husband I am in Mrs. Inchbare's clothes! I want to appear suddenly, without a word to warn him of what a

figure I am! I should have nothing left to wish for in this world," she added, " if Arnold could only see me

Looking in the glass, she noticed Anne's face reflected behind her, and started at the sight of it.

It was useless to prolong the pain of the inevitable misunderstanding between them. The one course to take

was to silence all further inquiries then and there. Strongly as she felt this, Anne's inbred loyalty to Blanche

still shrank from deceiving her to her face. "I might write it," she thought. "I can't say it, with Arnold

Brinkworth in the same house with her! "Write it? As she reconsidered the word, a sudden idea struck her.

"Gone again!" exclaimed Blanche, looking uneasily round the empty room. "Anne! there's something so

strange in all this, that I neither can, nor will, put up with your silence any longer. It's not just, it's not kind, to

shut me out of your confidence, after we have lived together like sisters all our lives!"

Anne sighed bitterly, and kissed her on the forehead. "You shall know all I can tell youall I dare tell you,"

She turned away to the side table, and came back with a letter in her hand. "Read that," she said, and handed

"I wrote to you, after Sir Patrick had left me," Anne replied. "I meant you to have received my letter

tomorrow, in time to prevent any little imprudence into which your anxiety might hurry you. All that I

can say to you is said there. Spare me the distress of speaking. Read it, Blanche."

"A letter from you to me! when we are both together, and both alone in the same room! It's worse than

formal, Anne! It's as if there was a quarrel between us. Why should it distress you to speak to me?"

Anne's eyes dropped to the ground. She pointed to the letter for the second time.

She passed rapidly over the opening sentences, and devoted all her attention to the second paragraph.

"And now, my love, you will expect me to atone for the surprise and distress that I have caused you, by

explaining what my situation really is, and by telling you all my plans for the future. Dearest Blanche! don't

think me untrue to the affection we bear toward each otherdon't think there is any change in my heart

toward youbelieve only that I am a very unhappy woman, and that I am in a position which forces me,

against my own will, to be silent about myself. Silent even to you, the sister of my lovethe one person in

the world who is dearest to me! A time may come when I shall be able to open my heart to you. Oh, what

good it will do me! what a relief it will be! For the present, I must be silent. For the present, we must be

parted. God knows what it costs me to write this. I think of the dear old days that are gone; I remember how I

promised your mother to be a sister to you, when her kind eyes looked at me, for the last timeyour mother,

who was an angel from heaven to mine! All this comes back on me now, and breaks my heart. But it must be!

my own Blanche, for the present. it must be! I will write oftenI will think of you, my darling, night and

day, till a happier future unites us again. God bless you, my dear one! And God help me!"

Blanche silently crossed the room to the sofa on which Anne was sitting, and stood there for a moment,

looking at her. She sat down, and laid her head on Anne's shoulder. Sorrowfully and quietly, she put the letter

Blanche left the sofa, and, going to the window, opened the shutters to look out at the night. She suddenly

"I see lights," she said"the lights of a carriage coming up out of the darkness of the moor. They are sending

after me, from Windygates. Go into t he bedroom. It's just possible Lady Lundie may have come for me

The ordinary relations of the two toward each other were completely reversed. Anne was like a child in

Left alone, Blanche took the letter out of her bosom, and read it again, in the interval of waiting for the

The second reading confirmed her in a resolution which she had privately taken, while she had been sitting by

Anne on the sofaa resolution destined to lead to far more serious results in the future than any previsions

of hers could anticipate. Sir Patrick was the one person she knew on whose discretion and experience she

could implicitly rely. She determined, in Anne's own interests, to take her uncle into her confidence, and to

tell him all that had happened at the inn "I'll first make him forgive me," thought Blanche. "And then I'll see

The carriage drew up at the door; and Mrs. Inchbare showed innot Lady Lundie, but Lady Lundie's maid.

The woman's account of what had happened at Windygates was simple enough. Lady Lundie had, as a matter

of course, placed the right interpretation on Blanche's abrupt departure in the ponychaise, and had ordered

the carriage, with the firm determination of following her stepdaughter herself. But the agitations and

anxieties of the day had proved too much for her. She had been seized by one of the attacks of giddiness to

which she was always subject after excessive mental irritation; and, eager as she was (on more accounts than

one) to go to the inn herself, she had been compelled, in Sir Patrick's absence, to commit the pursuit of

Blanche to her own maid, in whose age and good sense she could place every confidence. The woman seeing

the state of the weatherhad thoughtfully brought a box with her, containing a change of wearing apparel. In

offering it to Blanche, she added, with all due respect, that she had full powers from her mistress to go on, if

necessary, to the shootingcottage, and to place the matter in Sir Patrick's hands. This said, she left it to her

young lady to decide for herself, whether she would return to Windygates, under present circumstances, or

Blanche took the box from the woman's hands, and joined Anne in the bedroom, to dress herself for the drive

"I am going back to a good scolding," she said. "But a scolding is no novelty in my experience of Lady

Lundie. I'm not uneasy about that, AnneI'm uneasy about you. Can I be sure of one thingdo you stay

The worst that could happen at the inn had happened. Nothing was to be gained nowand every thing might

be lostby leaving the place at which Geoffrey had promised to write to her. Anne answered that she

"There may be. If you want to see me, we can meet at Windygates without being discovered. Come at

luncheontimego around by the shrubberyand step in at the library window. You know as well as I do

there is nobody in the library at that hour. Don't say it's impossibleyou don't know what may happen. I

shall wait ten minutes every day on the chance of seeing you. That's settledand it's settled that you write.

At those words Anne suddenly shook off the depression that weighed on her. She caught Blanche in her arms,

she held Blanche to her bosom with a fierce energy. "Will you always be to me, in the future, what you are

now?" she asked, abruptly. "Or is the time coming when you will hate me?" She prevented any reply by a

kissand pushed Blanche toward the door. "We have had a happy time together in the years that are gone,"

she said, with a farewell wave of her hand. "Thank God for that! And never mind the rest."

She threw open the bedroom door, and called to the maid, in the sittingroom. "Miss Lundie is waiting for

Anne waited a while in the bedroom, listening to the sound made by the departure of the carriage from the inn

door. Little by little, the tramp of the horses and the noise of the rolling wheels lessened and lessened. When

the last faint sounds were lost in silence she stood for a moment thinkingthen, rousing on a sudden, hurried

Even Mr. Bishopriggs felt the necessity of being silent when he stood face to face with her on answering the

"She has gone. She won't suspect you when you see her again. I have told her nothing. Don't ask me for my

He spoke and looked like an altered man. Quietly seating himself at the table, he rested his head on his

handand so remained silent. Anne was taken completely by surprise. She drew near, and looked at him

curiously. Let a woman's mood be what it may, it is certain to feel the influence of any change for which she

is unprepared in the manner of a manwhen that man interests her. The cause of this is not to be found in

the variableness of her humor. It is far more probably to be traced to the noble abnegation of Self, which is

one of the grandestand to the credit of woman be it saidone of the commonest virtues of the sex. Little

by little, the sweet feminine charm of Anne's face came softly and sadly back. The inbred nobility of the

woman's nature answered the call which the man had unconsciously made on it. She touched Arnold on the

"This has been hard on you," she said. "And I am to blame for it. Try and forgive me, Mr. Brinkworth. I am

"Thank you, Miss Silvester. It was not a very pleasant feeling, to be hiding from Blanche as if I was afraid of

herand it's set me thinking, I suppose, for the first time in my life. Never mind. It's all over now. Can I do

"What I have proposed doing all alongmy duty by Geoffrey. I have promised him to see you through your

difficulties here, and to provide for your safety till he comes back. I can only make sure of doing that by

keeping up appearances, and staying in the sittingroom tonight. When we next meet it will be under

pleasanter circumstances, I hope. I shall always be glad to think that I was of some service to you. In the

Anne held out her hand to take leave. Nothing could undo what had been done. The time for warning and

"You have not befriended an ungrateful woman," she said. "The day may yet come, Mr. Brinkworth, when I

She withdrew into her own room. Arnold locked the sittingroom door, and stretched himself on the sofa for

Arnold had gone, as he had promised, before Anne was out of her room. It was understood at the inn that

important business had unexpectedly called him south. Mr. Bishopriggs had been presented with a handsome

gratuity; and Mrs. Inchbare had been informed that the rooms were taken for a week certain.

In every quarter but one the march of events had now, to all appearance, fallen back into a quiet course.

Arnold was on his way to his estate; Blanche was safe at Windygates; Anne's residence at the inn was assured

for a week to come. The one present doubt was the doubt which hung over Geoffrey's movements. The one

event still involved in darkness turned on the question of life or death waiting for solution in

Londonotherwise, the question of Lord Holchester's health. Taken by i tself, the alternative, either way,

was plain enough. If my lord livedGeoffrey would he free to come back, and marry her privately in

Scotland. If my lord diedGeoffrey would be free to send for her, and marry her publicly in London. But

Anne went out on to the terraceground in front of the inn. The cool morning breeze blew steadily. Towering

white clouds sailed in grand procession over the heavens, now obscuring, and now revealing the sun. Yellow

light and purple shadow chased each other over the broad brown surface of the mooreven as hope and fear

chased each other over Anne's mind, brooding on what might come to her with the coming time.

She turned away, weary of questioning the impenetrable future, and went back to the inn.

Crossing the hall she looked at the clock. It was past the hour when the train from Perthshire was due in

London. Geoffrey and his brother were, at that moment, on their way to Lord Holchester's house.

LORD HOLCHESTER'S servantswith the butler at their headwere on the lookout for Mr. Julius

Delamayn's arrival from Scotland. The appearance of the two brothers together took the whole domestic

establishment by surprise. Inquiries were addressed to the butler by Julius; Geoffrey standing by, and taking

"His lordship, I am rejoiced to say, has astonished the doctors, Sir. He rallied last night in the most wonderful

way. If things go on for the next eightandforty hours as they are going now, my lord's recovery is

"A paralytic stroke, Sir. When her ladyship telegraphed to you in Scotland the doctors had given his lordship

The butler laid a special emphasis on the personal pronoun. Julius turned to his brother. The change for the

better in the state of Lord Holchester's health made Geoffrey's position, at that moment, an embarrassing one.

He had been positively forbidden to enter the house. His one excuse for setting that prohibitory sentence at

defiance rested on the assumption that his father was actually dying. As matters now stood, Lord Holchester's

order remained in full force. The underservants in the hall (charged to obey that order as they valued their

places) looked from "Mr. Geoffrey" to the butler, The butler looked from "Mr. Geoffrey" to "Mr. Julius."

Julius looked at his brother. There was an awkward pause. The position of the second son was the position of

a wild beast in the housea creature to be got rid of, without risk to yourself, if you only knew how.

"Wait a minute," interposed his brother. "It will be a sad disappointment to my mother to know that you have

been here, and gone away again without seeing her. These are no ordinary circumstances, Geoffrey. Come up

"Send your message to Nagle's Hotel. I'm at home at Nagle'sI'm not at home here."

At that point the discussion was interrupted by the appearance of a little terrier in the hall. Seeing strangers,

the dog began to bark. Perfect tranquillity in the house had been absolutely insisted on by the doctors; and the

servants, all trying together to catch the animal and quiet him, simply aggravated the noise he was making.

Geoffrey solved this problem also in his own decisive way. He swung round as the dog was passing him, and

kicked it with his heavy boot. The little creature fell on the spot, whining piteously. "My lady's pet dog!"

exclaimed the butler. "You've broken its ribs, Sir." "I've broken it of barking, you mean," retorted Geoffrey.

"Ribs be hanged!" He turned to his brother. "That settles it," he said, jocosely. "I'd better defer the pleasure of

calling on dear mamma till the next opportunity. Tata, Julius. You know where to find me. Come, and dine.

He went out. The tall footmen eyed his lordship's second son with unaffected respect. They had seen him, in

public, at the annual festival of the ChristianPugilisticAssociation, with "the gloves" on. He could have

beaten the biggest man in the hall within an inch of his life in three minutes. The porter bowed as he threw

open the door. The whole interest and attention of the domestic establishment then present was concentrated

on Geoffrey. Julius went up stairs to his mother without attracting the slightest notice.

The month was August. The streets were empty. The vilest breeze that blowsa hot east wind in

Londonwas the breeze abroad on that day. Even Geoffrey appeared to feel the influence of the weather as

the cab carried him from his father's door to the hotel. He took off his hat, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, and

lit his everlasting pipe, and growled and grumbled between his teeth in the intervals of smoking. Was it only

the hot wind that wrung from him these demonstrations of discomfort? Or was there some secret anxiety in

his mind which assisted the depressing influences of the day? There was a secret anxiety in his mind. And the

As things actually were at that moment, what course was he to take with the unhappy woman who was

The preliminary difficulty, relating to addressing a letter to Anne at the inn, had been already provided for.

She had decidedif it proved necessary to give her name, before Geoffrey joined herto call herself Mrs.,

instead of Miss, Silvester. A letter addressed to "Mrs. Silvester" might be trusted to find its way to her

without causing any embarrassment. The doubt was not here. The doubt lay, as usual, between two

alternatives. Which course would it be wisest to take?to inform Anne, by that day's post, that an interval of

fortyeight hours must elapse before his father's recovery could be considered certain? Or to wait till the

interval was over, and be guided by the result? Considering the alternatives in the cab, he decided that the

wise course was to temporize with Anne, by reporting matters as they then stood.

Arrived at the hotel, he sat down to write the letterdoubtedand tore it updoubted againand began

againdoubted once moreand tore up the second letterrose to his feetand owned to himself (in

unprintable language) that he couldn't for the life of him decide which was safestto write or to wait.

In this difficulty, his healthy physical instincts sent him to healthy physical remedies for relief. "My mind's in

It was an elaborate bath, proceeding through many rooms, and combining many postures and applications. He

steamed. He plunged. He simmered. He stood under a pipe, and received a cataract of cold water on his head.

He was laid on his back; he was laid on his stomach; he was respectfully pounded and kneaded, from head to

foot, by the knuckles of accomplished practitioners. He came out of it all, sleek, clear rosy, beautiful. He

returned to the hotel, and took up the writing materialsand behold the intolerable indecision seized him

again, declining to be washed out! This time he laid it all to Anne. "That infernal woman will be the ruin of

The pursuit of the new remedy for stimulating a sluggish brain took him to a public house, kept by the

professional pedestrian who had the honor of training him when he contended at Athletic Sports.

"A private room and the dumbbells!" cried Geoffrey. "The heaviest you have got."

He stripped himself of his upper clothing, and set to work, with the heavy weights in each hand, waving them

up and down, and backward and forward, in every attainable variety o f movement, till his magnificent

muscles seemed on the point of starting through his sleek skin. Little by little his animal spirits roused

themselves. The strong exertion intoxicated the strong man. In sheer excitement he swore

cheerfullyinvoking thunder and lightning, explosion and blood, in return for the compliments profusely

paid to him by the pedestrian and the pedestrian's son. "Pen, ink, and paper!" he roared, when he could use

the dumbbells no longer. "My mind's made up; I'll write, and have done with it!" He sat down to his writing

on the spot; actually finished the letter; another minute would have dispatched it to the postand, in that

minute, the maddening indecision took possession of him once more. He opened the letter again, read it over

again, and tore it up again. "I'm out of my mind!" cried Geoffrey, fixing his big bewildered blue eyes fiercely

on the professor who trained him. "Thunder and lightning! Explosion and blood! Send for Crouch."

Crouch (known and respected wherever English manhood is known and respected) was a retired

prizefighter. He appeared with the third and last remedy for clearing the mind known to the Honorable

The gentleman and the prizefighter put on the gloves, and faced each other in the classically correct posture

of pugilistic defense. "None of your play, mind!" growled Geoffrey. "Fight, you beggar, as if you were in the

Ring again with orders to win." No man knew better than the great and terrible Crouch what real fighting

meant, and what heavy blows might be given even with such apparently harmless weapons as stuffed and

padded gloves. He pretended, and only pretended, to comply with his patron's request. Geoffrey rewarded

him for his polite forbearance by knocking him down. The great and terrible rose with unruffled composure.

"Well hit, Sir!" he said. "Try it with the other hand now." Geoffrey's temper was not under similar control.

Invoking everlasting destruction on the frequentlyblackened eyes of Crouch, he threatened instant

withdrawal of his patronage and support unless the polite pugilist hit, then and there, as hard as he could. The

hero of a hundred fights quailed at the dreadful prospect. "I've got a family to support," remarked Crouch. "If

you will have it, Sirthere it is!" The fall of Geoffrey followed, and shook the house. He was on his legs

again in an instantnot satisfied even yet. "None of your bodyhitting!" he roared. "Stick to my head.

Thunder and lightning! explosion and blood! Knock it out of me! Stick to the head!" Obedient Crouch stuck

to the head. The two gave and took blows which would have stunnedpossibly have killedany civilized

member of the community. Now on one side of his patron's iron skull, and now on the other, the hammering

of the prizefighter's gloves fell, thump upon thump, horrible to hearuntil even Geoffrey himself had had

enough of it. "Thank you, Crouch," he said, speaking civilly to the man for the first time. "That will do. I feel

nice and clear again." He shook his head two or three times, he was rubbed down like a horse by the

professional runner; he drank a mighty draught of malt liquor; he recovered his goodhumor as if by magic.

"Want the pen and ink, Sir?" inquired his pedestrian host. "Not I!" answered Geoffrey. "The muddle's out of

me now. Pen and ink be hanged! I shall look up some of our fellows, and go to the play." He left the public

house in the happiest condition of mental calm. Inspired by the stimulant application of Crouch's gloves, his

torpid cunning had been shaken up into excellent working order at last. Write to Anne? Who but a fool would

write to such a woman as that until he was forced to it? Wait and see what the chances of the next

eightandforty hours might bring forth, and then write to her, or desert her, as the event might decide. It lay

in a nutshell, if you could only see it. Thanks to Crouch, he did see itand so away in a pleasant temper for

THE interval of eightandforty hours passedwithout the occurrence of any personal communication

Julius, remaining at his father's house, sent brief written bulletins of Lord Holchester's health to his brother at

the hotel. The first bulletin said, "Going on well. Doctors satisfied." The second was firmer in tone. "Going

on excellently. Doctors very sanguine." The third was the most explicit of all. "I am to see my father in an

hour from this. The doctors answer for his recovery. Depend on my putting in a good word for you, if I can;

Geoffrey's face darkened as he read the third bulletin. He called once more for the hated writing materials.

There could be no doubt now as to the necessity of communicating with Anne. Lord Holchester's recovery

had put him back again in the same critical position which he had occupied at Windygates. To keep Anne

from committing some final act of despair, which would connect him with a public scandal, and ruin him so

far as his expectations from his father were concerned, was, once more, the only safe policy that Geoffrey

"DEAR ANNE,Have only just heard that my father is turning the corner. Stay where you are. Will write

Having dispatched this Spartan composition by the post, Geoffrey lit his pipe, and waited the event of the

Julius found his father alarmingly altered in personal appearance, but in full possession of his faculties

nevertheless. Unable to return the pressure of his son's handunable even to turn in the bed without

helpthe hard eye of the old lawyer was as keen, the hard mind of the old lawyer was as clear, as ever. His

grand ambition was to see Julius in Parliament. Julius was offering himself for election in Perthshire, by his

father's express desire, at that moment. Lord Holchester entered eagerly into politics before his eldest son had

"Much obliged, Julius, for your congratulations. Men of my sort are not easily killed. (Look at Brougham and

Lyndhurst!) You won't be called to the Upper House yet. You will begin in the House of

Commonsprecisely as I wished. What are your prospects with the constituency? Tell me exactly how you

"Surely, Sir, you are hardly recovered enough to enter on matters of business yet?"

"I am quite recovered enough. I want some present interest to occupy me. My thoughts are beginning to drift

back to past times, and to things which are better forgotten." A sudden contraction crossed his livid face. He

looked hard at his son, and entered abruptly on a new question. "Julius!" he resumed, "have you ever heard of

Julius answered in the negative. He and his wife had exchanged cards with Lady Lundie, and had excused

themselves from accepting her invitation to the lawnparty. With the exception of Blanche, they were both

"Make a memorandum of the name," Lord Holchester went on. "Anne Silvester. Her father and mother are

dead. I knew her father in former times. Her mother was illused. It was a bad business. I have been thinking

of it again, for the first time for many years. If the girl is alive and about the world she may remember our

family name. Help her, Julius, if she ever wants help, and applies to you." The painful contraction passed

across his face once more. Were his thoughts taking him back to the memorable summer evening at the

Hampstead villa? Did he see the deserted woman swooning at his feet again? "About your election?" he

Julius stated his position as plainly and as briefly as he could. The father found nothing to object to in the

reportexcept the son's absence from the field of action. He blamed Lady H olchester for summoning Julius

to London. He was annoyed at his son's being there, at the bedside, when he ought to have been addressing

the electors. "It's inconvenient, Julius," he said, petulantly. "Don't you see it yourself?"

Having previously arranged with his mother to take the first opportunity that offered of risking a reference to

Geoffrey, Julius decided to "see it" in a light for which his father was not prepared. The opportunity was

"It is no inconvenience to me, Sir," he replied, "and it is no inconvenience to my brother either. Geoffrey was

Lord Holchester looked at his eldest son with a grimlysatirical expression of surprise.

"Have I not already told you," he rejoined, "that my mind is not affected by my illness? Geoffrey anxious

about me! Anxiety is one of the civilized emotions. Man in his savage state is incapable of feeling it."

"His stomach is generally full, and his skin is covered with linen and cloth, instead of red ochre and oil. So

far, certainly, your brother is civilized. In all other respects your brother is a savage."

"I know what you mean, Sir. But there is something to be said for Geoffrey's way of life. He cultivates his

courage and his strength. Courage and strength are fine qualities, surely, in their way?"

"Excellent qualities, as far as they go. If you want to know how far that is, challenge Geoffrey to write a

sentence of decent English, and see if his courage doesn't fail him there. Give him his books to read for his

degree, and, strong as he is, he will be taken ill at the sight of them. You wish me to see your brother.

Nothing will induce me to see him, until his way of life (as you call it) is altered altogether. I have but one

hope of its ever being altered now. It is barely possible that the influence of a sensible womanpossessed of

such advantages of birth and fortune as may compel respect, even from a savagemight produce its effect

on Geoffrey. If he wishes to find his way back into this house, let him find his way back into good society

first, and bring me a daughterinlaw to plead his cause for himwhom his mother and I can respect and

receive. When that happens, I shall begin to have some belief in Geoffrey. Until it does happen, don't

introduce your brother into any future conversations which you may have with Me. To return to your

election. I have some advice to give you before you go back. You will do well to go back tonight. Lift me

His son lifted him on the pillows, and once more entreated him to spare himself.

It was useless. No remonstrances shook the iron resolution of the man who had hewed his way through the

rank and file of political humanity to his own high place apart from the rest. Helpless, ghastly, snatched out

of the very jaws of death, there he lay, steadily distilling the clear commonsense which had won him all his

worldly rewards into the mind of his son. Not a hint was missed, not a caution was forgotten, that could guide

Julius safely through the miry political ways which he had trodden so safely and so dextrously himself. An

hour more had passed before the impenetrable old man closed his weary eyes, and consented to take his

nourishment and compose himself to rest. His last words, rendered barely articulate by exhaustion, still sang

the praises of party manoeuvres and political strife. "It's a grand career! I miss the House of Commons,

Left free to pursue his own thoughts, and to guide his own movements, Julius went straight from Lord

"Has your father said any thing about Geoffrey?" was his mother's first question as soon as he entered the

Lady Holchester's face clouded. "I know," she said, with a look of disappointment. "His last chance is to read

for his degree. Hopeless, my dear. Quite hopeless! If it had only been something easier than that; something

"It does rest with you," interposed Julius. "My dear mother!can you believe it?Geoffrey's last chance is

Julius repeated his father's own words. Lady Holchester looked twenty years younger as she listened. When

"No matter who calls," she said to the servant, "I am not at home." She turned to Julius, kissed him, and made

a place for him on the sofa by her side. "Geoffrey shall take that chance," she said, gayly"I will answer for

it! I have three women in my mind, any one of whom would suit him. Sit down, my dear, and let us consider

carefully which of the three will be most likely to attract Geoffrey, and to come up to your father's standard

of what his daughterinlaw ought to be. When we have decided, don't trust to writing. Go yourself and see

Mother and son entered on their consultationand innocently sowed the seeds of a terrible harvest to come.

TIME had advanced to after noon before the selection of Geoffrey's future wife was accomplished, and

before the instructions of Geoffrey's brother were complete enough to justify the opening of the matrimonial

"Don't leave him till you have got his promise," were Lady Holchester's last words when her son started on

"If Geoffrey doesn't jump at what I am going to offer him," was the son's reply, "I shall agree with my father

that the case is hopeless; and I shall end, like my father, in giving Geoffrey up."

This was strong language for Julius to use. It was not easy to rouse the disciplined and equable temperament

of Lord Holchester's eldest son. No two men were ever more thoroughly unlike each other than these two

brothers. It is melancholy to acknowledge it of the blood relation of a "stroke oar," but it must be owned, in

the interests of truth, that Julius cultivated his intelligence. This degenerate Briton could digest booksand

couldn't digest beer. Could learn languagesand couldn't learn to row. Practiced the foreign vice of

perfecting himself in the art of playing on a musical instrument and couldn't learn the English virtue of

knowing a good horse when he saw him. Got through life. (Heaven only knows how!) without either a biceps

or a bettingbook. Had openly acknowledged, in English society, that he didn't think the barking of a pack of

hounds the finest music in the world. Could go to foreign parts, and see a mountain which nobody had ever

got to the top of yetand didn't instantly feel his honor as an Englishman involved in getting to the top of it

himself. Such people may, and do, exist among the inferior races of the Continent. Let us thank Heaven, Sir,

Arrived at Nagle's Hotel, and finding nobody to inquire of in the hall, Julius applied to the young lady who

sat behind the window of "the bar." The young lady was reading something so deeply interesting in the

evening newspaper that she never even heard him. Julius went into the coffeeroom.

The waiter, in his corner, was absorbed over a second newspaper. Three gentlemen, at three different tables,

were absorbed in a third, fourth, and fifth newspaper. They all alike went on with their reading without

noticing the entrance of the stranger. Julius ventured on disturbing the waiter by asking for Mr. Geoffrey

Delamayn. At the sound of that illustrious name the waiter looked up with a start. "Are you Mr. Delamayn's

The three gentlemen at the tables looked up with a start. The light of Geoffrey's celebrity fell, reflected, on

"You'll find Mr. Geoffrey, Sir," said the waiter, in a flurried, excited manner, "at the Cock and Bottle,

The wait er opened his eyes on Julius with an expression of blank astonishment. "Haven't you heard the

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the three gentlemenand offered the three newspapers.

"What is it?" repeated the waiter, in a hollow voice. "The most dreadful thing that's happened in my time. It's

The three gentlemen dropped solemnly back into their three chairs, and repeated the dreadful intelligence, in

A man who stands face to face with a great national disaster, and who doesn't understand it, is a man who

will do wisely to hold his tongue and enlighten his mind without asking other people to help him. Julius

accepted the waiter's newspaper, and sat down to make (if possible) two discoveries: First, as to whether

"Tinkler" did, or did not, mean a man. Second, as to what particular form of human affliction you implied

There was no difficulty in finding the news. It was printed in the largest type, and was followed by a personal

statement of the facts, taken one waywhich was followed, in its turn, by another personal statement of the

facts, taken in another way. More particulars, and further personal statements, were promised in later

editions. The royal salute of British journalism thundered the announcement of Tinkler's staleness before a

Divested of exaggeration, the facts were few enough and simple enough. A famous Athletic Association of

the North had challenged a famous Athletic Association of the South. The usual "Sports" were to take

placesuch as running, jumping, "putting" the hammer, throwing cricketballs, and the likeand the whole

was to wind up with a FootRace of unexampled length and difficulty in the annals of human achievement

between the two best men on either side. "Tinkler" was the best man on the side of the South. "Tinkler" was

backed in innumerable bettingbooks to win. And Tinkler's lungs had suddenly given way under stress of

training! A prospect of witnessing a prodigious achievement in footracing, and (more important still) a

prospect of winning and losing large sums of money, was suddenly withdrawn from the eyes of the British

people. The "South" could produce no second opponent worthy of the North out of its own associated

resources. Surveying the athletic world in general, but one man existed who might possibly replace

"Tinkler"and it was doubtful, in the last degree, whether he would consent to come forward under the

circumstances. The name of that manJulius read it with horrorwas Geoffrey Delamayn.

Profound silence reigned in the coffeeroom. Julius laid down the newspaper, and looked about him. The

waiter was busy, in his corner, with a pencil and a bettingbook. The three gentlemen were busy, at the three

"Try and persuade him!" said the waiter, piteously, as Delamayn's brother rose to leave the room.

"Try and persuade him!" echoed the three gentlemen, as Delamayn's brother opened the door and went out.

Julius called a cab. and told the driver (busy with a pencil and a bettingbook) to go to the Cock and Bottle,

Putney. The man brightened into a new being at the prospect. No need to hurry him; he drove, unasked, at the

As the cab drew near to its destination the signs of a great national excitement appeared, and multiplied. The

lips of a people pronounced, with a grand unanimity, the name of "Tinkler." The heart of a people hung

suspended (mostly in the public houses) on the chances for and against the possibility of replacing "Tinkler"

by another man. The scene in front of the inn was impressive in the highest degree. Even the London

blackguard stood awed and quiet in the presence of the national calamity. Even the irrepressible man with the

apron, who always turns up to sell nuts and sweetmeats in a crowd, plied his trade in silence, and found few

indeed (to the credit of the nation be it spoken) who had the heart to crack a nut at such a time as this. The

police were on the spot, in large numbers, and in mute sympathy with the people, touching to see. Julius, on

being stopped at the door, mentioned his nameand received an ovation. His brother! oh, heavens, his

brother! The people closed round him, the people shook hands with him, the people invoked blessings on his

head. Julius was half suffocated, when the police rescued him, and landed him safe in the privileged haven on

the inner side of the public house door. A deafening tumult broke out, as he entered, from the regions above

stairs. A distant voice screamed, "Mind yourselves!" A hatless shouting man tore down through the people

congregated on the stairs. "Hooray! Hooray! He's promised to do it! He's entered for the race!" Hundreds on

hundreds of voices took up the cry. A roar of cheering burst from the people outside. Reporters for the

newspapers raced, in frantic procession, out of the inn, and rushed into cabs to put the news in print. The

hand of the landlord, leading Julius carefully up stairs by the arm, trembled with excitement. "His brother,

gentlemen! his brother!" At those magic words a lane was made through the throng. At those magic words

the closed door of the councilchamber flew open; and Julius found himself among the Athletes of his native

country, in full parliament assembled. Is any description of them needed? The description of Geoffrey applies

to them all. The manhood and muscle of England resemble the wool and mutton of England, in this respect,

that there is about as much variety in a flock of athletes as in a flock of sheep. Julius looked about him, and

saw the same man in the same dress, with the same health, strength, tone, tastes, habits, conversation, and

pursuits, repeated infinitely in every part of the room. The din was deafening; the enthusiasm (to an

uninitiated stranger) something at once hideous and terrifying to behold. Geoffrey had been lifted bodily on

to the table, in his chair, so as to be visible to the whole room. They sang round him, they danced round him,

they cheered round him, they swore round him. He was hailed, in mandlin terms of endearment, by grateful

giants with tears in their eyes. "Dear old man!" "Glorious, noble, splendid, beautiful fellow!" They hugged

him. They patted him on the back. They wrung his hands. They prodded and punched his muscles. They

embraced the noble legs that were going to run the unexampled race. At the opposite end of the room, where

it was physically impossible to get near the hero, the enthusiasm vented itself in feats of strength and acts of

destruction. Hercules I. cleared a space with his elbows, and laid downand Hercules II. took him up in his

teeth. Hercules III. seized the poker from the fireplace, and broke it on his arm. Hercules IV. followed with

the tongs, and shattered them on his neck. The smashing of the furniture and the pulling down of the house

seemed likely to succeedwhen Geoffrey's eye lighted by accident on Julius, and Geoffrey's voice, calling

fiercely for his brother, hushed the wild assembly into sudden attention, and turned the fiery enthusiasm into

a new course. Hooray for his brother! One, two, threeand up with his brother on our shoulders! Four five,

sixand on with his brother, over our heads, to the other end of the room! See, boyssee! the hero has got

him by the collar! the hero has lifted him on the table! The hero heated redhot with his own triumph,

welcomes the poor little snob cheerfully, with a volley of oaths. "Thunder and lightning! Explosion and

Julius recovered his breath, and arranged his coat. The quiet little man, who had just muscle enough to lift a

dictionary from the shelf, and just training enough to play the fiddle, so far from being daunted by the rough

reception accorded to him, appeared to feel no other sentiment in relation to it than a sentiment of

"You're not frightened, are you?" said Geoffrey. "Our fellows are a roughish lot, but they mean well."

"I am not frightened," answered Julius. "I am only wonderingwhen the Schools and Universities of

England turn out such a set of ruffians as thesehow long the Schools and Universities of England will last."

"Mind what you are about, Julius! They'll cart you out of window if they hear you."

Here the assembly, seeing but not hearing the colloquy between the two brothers, became uneasy on the

subject of the coming race. A roar of voices summoned Geoffrey to announce it, if there was any thing

wrong. Having pacified the meeting, Geoffrey turned again to his brother, and asked him, in no amiable

"I want to tell you something, before I go back to Scotland," answered Julius. "My father is willing to give

you a last chance. If you don't take it, my doors are closed against you as well as his."

Nothing is more remarkable, in its way, than the sound commonsense and admirable selfrestraint exhibited

by the youth of the present time when confronted by an emergency in which their own interests are

concerned. Instead of resenting the tone which his brother had taken with him, Geoffrey instantly descended

from the pedestal of glory on which he stood, and placed himself without a struggle in the hands which

vicariously held his destinyotherwise, the hands which vicariously held the purse. In five minutes more the

meeting had been dismissed, with all needful assurances relating to Geoffrey's share in the coming

Sportsand the two brothers were closeted together in one of the private rooms of the inn.

"I won't be five minutes," replied Julius. "I go back tonight by the mailtrain; and I have a great deal to do

in the mean time. Here it is, in plain words: My father consents to see you again, if you choose to settle in

lifewith his approval. And my mother has discovered where you may find a wife. Birth, beauty, and

money are all offered to you. Take themand you recover your position as Lord Holchester's son. Refuse

Geoffrey's reception of the news from home was not of the most reassuring kind. Instead of answering he

struck his fist furiously on the table, and cursed with all his heart some absent woman unnamed.

"I have nothing to do with any degrading connection which you may have formed," Julius went on. "I have

only to put the matter before you exactly as it stands, and to leave you to decide for yourself. The lady in

question was formerly Miss Newendena descendant of one of the oldest families in England. She is now

Mrs. Glenarmthe young widow (and the childless widow) of the great ironmaster of that name. Birth and

fortuneshe unites both. Her income is a clear ten thousand a year. My father can and will, make it fifteen

thousand, if you are lucky enough to persuade her to marry you. My mother answers for her personal

qualities. And my wife has met her at our house in London. She is now, as I hear, staying with some friends

in Scotland; and when I get back I will take care that an invitation is sent to her to pay her next visit at my

house. It remains, of course, to be seen whether you are fortunate enough to produce a favorable impression

on her. In the mean time you will be doing every thing that my father can ask of you, if you make the

Geoffrey impatiently dismissed that part of the question from all consideration.

"If she don't cotton to a man who's going to run in the Great Race at Fulham," he said, "there are plenty as

"I tell you again, I have nothing to do with your difficulties," Julius resumed. "Take the rest of the day to

consider what I have said to you. If you decide to accept the proposal, I shall expect you to prove you are in

earnest by meeting me at the station tonight. We will travel back to Scotland together. You will complete

your interrupted visit at Lady Lundie's (it is important, in my interests, that you should treat a person of her

position in the county with all due respect); and my wife will make the necessary arrangements with Mrs.

Glenarm, in anticipation of your return to our house. There is nothing more to be said, and no further

necessity of my staying here. If you join me at the station tonight, your sisterinlaw and I will do all we

can to help you. If I travel back to Scotland alone, don't trouble yourself to followI have done with you."

"Get me a boat. I shall scull myself up the river for an hour or two. And put in some towels. I may take a

The landlord received the orderwith a caution addressed to his illustrious guest.

"Don't show yourself in front of the house, Sir! If you let the people see you, they're in such a state of

He took a turn up and down the room. What were the difficulties to be overcome before he could profit by the

golden prospect which his brother had offered to him? The Sports? No! The committee had promised to defer

the day, if he wished itand a month's training, in his physical condition, would be amply enough for him.

Had he any personal objection to trying his luck with Mrs. Glenarm? Not he! Any woman would

doprovided his father was satisfied, and the money was all right. The obstacle which was really in his way

was the obstacle of the woman whom he had ruined. Anne! The one insuperable difficulty was the difficulty

The landlord and the police inspector smugled him out by the back way unknown to the expectant populace

in front The two men stood on the riverbank admiring him, as he pulled away from them, with his long,

"That's what I call the pride and flower of England!" said the inspector. "Has the betting on him begun?"

Julius went early to the station that night. His mother was very anxious. "Don't let Geoffrey find an excuse in

The first person whom Julius saw on getting out of the carriage was Geoffreywith his ticket taken, and his

THE Library at Windygates was the largest and the handsomest room in the house. The two grand divisions

under which Literature is usually arranged in these days occupied the customary places in it. On the shelves

which ran round the walls were the books which humanity in general respectsand does not read. On the

tables distributed over the floor were the books which humanity in general readsand does not respect. In

the first class, the works of the wise ancients; and the Histories, Biographies, and Essays of writers of more

modern timesotherwise the Solid Literature, which is universally respected, and occasionally read. In the

second class, the Novels of our own dayotherwise the Light Literature, which is universally read, and

occasionally respected. At Windygates, as elsewhere, we believed History to be high literature, because it

assumed to be true to Authorities (of which we knew little)and Fiction to be low literature, because it

attempted to be true to Nature (of which we knew less). At Windygates as elsewhere, we were always more

or less satisfied with ourselves, if we were publicly discovered consulting our Historyand more or less

ashamed of ourselves, if we were publicly discovered devouring our Fiction. An architectural peculiarity in

the original arrangement of the library favored the development of this common and curious form of human

stupidity. While a row of luxurious armchairs, in the main thoroughfare of the room, invited the reader of

solid lit erature to reveal himself in the act of cultivating a virtue, a row of snug little curtained recesses,

opening at intervals out of one of the walls, enabled the reader of light literature to conceal himself in the act

of indulging a vice. For the rest, all the minor accessories of this spacious and tranquil place were as plentiful

and as well chosen as the heart could desire. And solid literature and light literature, and great writers and

small, were all bounteously illuminated alike by a fine broad flow of the light of heaven, pouring into the

It was the fourth day from the day of Lady Lundie's gardenparty, and it wanted an hour or more of the time

The guests at Windygates were most of them in the garden, enjoying the morning sunshine, after a prevalent

mist and rain for some days past. Two gentlemen (exceptions to the general rule) were alone in the library.

They were the two last gentlemen in the would who could possibly be supposed to have any legitimate

motive for meeting each other in a place of literary seclusion. One was Arnold Brinkworth, and the other was

They had arrived together at Windygates that morning. Geoffrey had traveled from London with his brother

by the train of the previous night. Arnold, delayed in getting away at his own time, from his own property, by

ceremonies incidental to his position which were not to be abridged without giving offense to many worthy

peoplehad caught the passing train early that morning at the station nearest to him, and had returned to

After a short preliminary interview with Blanche, Arnold had rejoined Geoffrey in the safe retirement of the

library, to say what was still left to be said between them on the subject of Anne. Having completed his report

of events at Craig Fernie, he was now naturally waiting to hear what Geoffrey had to say on his side. To

Arnold's astonishment, Geoffrey coolly turned away to leave the library without uttering a word.

"Not quite so fast, Geoffrey," he said. "I have an interest in Miss Silvester's welfare as well as in yours. Now

If Geoffrey had told the truth, he must have stated his position much as follows:

He had necessarily decided on deserting Anne when he had decided on joining his brother on the journey

back. But he had advanced no farther than this. How he was to abandon the woman who had trusted him,

without seeing his own dastardly conduct dragged into the light of day, was more than he yet knew. A vague

idea of at once pacifying and deluding Anne, by a marriage which should be no marriage at all, had crossed

his mind on the journey. He had asked himself whether a trap of that sort might not be easily set in a country

notorious for the looseness of its marriage lawsif a man only knew how? And he had thought it likely that

his wellinformed brother, who lived in Scotland, might be tricked into innocently telling him what he

wanted to know. He had turned the conversation to the subject of Scotch marriages in general by way of

trying the experiment. Julius had not studied the question; Julius knew nothing about it; and there the

experiment had come to an end. As the necessary result of the check thus encountered, he was now in

Scotland with absolutely nothing to trust to as a means of effecting his release but the chapter of accidents,

aided by his own resolution to marry Mrs. Glenarm. Such was his position, and such should have been the

substance of his reply when he was confronted by Arnold's question, and plainly asked what he meant to do.

"I'm glad to hear you see your way so plainly," returned Arnold. "In your place, I should have been all

abroad. I was wondering, only the other day, whether you would end, as I should have ended, in consulting

"I shouldn't have known how to set about marrying her," replied Arnold. "Andbeing in ScotlandI should

have applied to Sir Patrick (without mentioning names, of course), because he would be sure to know all

"Suppose I don't see my way quite so plainly as you think," said Geoffrey. " Would you advise me"

"To consult Sir Patrick? Certainly! He has passed his life in the practice of the Scotch law. Didn't you know

"Then take my adviceand consult him. You needn't mention names. You can say it's the case of a friend."

The idea was a new one and a good one. Geoffrey looked longingly toward the door. Eager to make Sir

Patrick his innocent accomplice on the spot, he made a second attempt to leave the library; and made it for

the second time in vain. Arnold had more unwelcome inquiries to make, and more advice to give unasked.

"How have you arranged about meeting Miss Silvester?" he went on. "You can't go to the hotel in the

character of her husband. I have prevented that. Where else are you to meet her? She is all alone; she must be

After staring hard at Arnold while he was speaking, Geoffrey burst out laughing when he had done. A

disinterested anxiety for the welfare of another person was one of those refinements of feeling which a

"I say, old boy," he burst out, "you seem to take an extraordinary interest in Miss Silvester! You haven't

"Come! come!" said Arnold, seriously. "Neither she nor I deserve to be sneered at, in that way. I have made a

Geoffrey's face became serious again. His secret was in Arnold's hands; and his estimate of Arnold's

character was founded, unconsciously, on his experience of himself. "All right," he said, by way of timely

"As much joking as you please, when you have married her," replied Arnold. "It seems serious enough, to my

mind, till then." He stoppedconsideredand laid his hand very earnestly on Geoffrey's arm. "Mind!" he

resumed. "You are not to breathe a word to any living soul, of my having been near the inn!"

"I am anxious, Geoffrey. I was at Craig Fernie, remember, when Blanche came there! She has been telling me

all that happened, poor darling, in the firm persuasion that I was miles off at the time. I swear I couldn't look

her in the face! What would she think of me, if she knew the truth? Pray be careful! pray be careful!"

"We had all this out," he said, "on the way here from the station. What's the good of going over the ground

"You're quite right," said Arnold, goodhumoredly. "The fact isI'm out of sorts, this morning. My mind

"Mind?" repeated Geoffrey, in high contempt. "It's fleshthat's what's the matter with you. You're nigh on a

stone over your right weight. Mind he hanged! A man in healthy training don't know that he has got a mind.

Take a turn with the dumbbells, and a run up hill with a greatcoat on. Sweat it off, Arnold! Sweat it off!"

With that excellent advice, he turned to leave the room for the third time. Fate appeared to have determined to

keep him imprisoned in the library, that morning. On this occasion, it was a servant who got in the waya

Geoffrey looked at the letter. It was in his brother's handwriting. He had left Julius at the junction about three

He opened the letter. Julius had to announce that Fortune was favoring them already. He had heard news of

Mrs. Glenarm, as soon as he reached home. She had called on his wife, during his absence in Londonshe

had been inv ited to the houseand she had promised to accept the invitation early in the week. "Early in the

week," Julius wrote, "may mean tomorrow. Make your apologies to Lady Lundie; and take care not to

offend her. Say that family reasons, which you hope soon to have the pleasure of confiding to her, oblige you

to appeal once more to her indulgenceand come tomorrow, and help us to receive Mrs. Glenarm."

Even Geoffrey was startled, when he found himself met by a sudden necessity for acting on his own decision.

Anne knew where his brother lived. Suppose Anne (not knowing where else to find him) appeared at his

brother's house, and claimed him in the presence of Mrs. Glenarm? He gave orders to have the messenger

Geoffrey looked up with a frown. He had just opened his lips to answer that illtimed reference to Anne, in

no very friendly terms, when a voice, calling to Arnold from the lawn outside, announced the appearance of a

third person in the library, and warned the two gentlemen that their private interview was at an end.

"The garden is insufferable, this morning." Saying those words, she fanned herself with her handkerchief, and

noticed Geoffrey's presence in the room with a look of very thinlyconcealed annoyance at the discovery.

"Wait till I am married!" she thought. "Mr. Delamayn will be cleverer than I take him to be, if he gets much

"A trifle too hoteh?" said Geoffrey, seeing her eyes fixed on him, and supposing that he was expected to

Having performed that duty he walked away without waiting for a reply; and seated himself with his letter, at

"Sir Patrick is quite right about the young men of the present day," said Blanche, turning to Arnold. "Here is

this one asks me a question, and doesn't wait for an answer. There are three more of them, out in the garden,

who have been talking of nothing, for the last hour, but the pedigrees of horses and the muscles of men.

When we are married, Arnold, don't present any of your male friends to me, unless they have turned fifty.

What shall we do till luncheontime? It's cool and quiet in here among the books. I want a mild

excitementand I have got absolutely nothing to do. Suppose you read me some poetry?"

"While he is here?" asked Arnold, pointing to the personified antithesis of poetryotherwise to Geoffrey,

"Pooh!" said Blanche. "There's only an animal in the room. We needn't mind him!"

"I say!" exclaimed Arnold. "You're as bitter, this morning, as Sir Patrick himself. What will you say to Me

Blanche stole her hand into Arnold's hand and gave it a little significant squeeze. "I shall always be nice to

you," she whisperedwith a look that contained a host of pretty promises in itself. Arnold returned the look

(Geoffrey was unquestionably in the way!). Their eyes met tenderly (why couldn't the great awkward brute

write his letters somewhere else?). With a faint little sigh, Blanche dropped resignedly into one of the

comfortable armchairsand asked once more for "some poetry," in a voice that faltered softly, and with a

"Any body's," said Blanche. "This is another of my impulses. I am dying for some poetry. I don't know whose

Arnold went straight to the nearest bookshelf, and took down the first volume that his hand lighted ona

Arnold opened the volume, and conscientiously read the title exactly as it stood:

"Another instance of sympathy between us. No educated person ought to be ignorant of Milton. Let us be

"Of course! Stop! You musn't sit all that way offyou must sit where I can look at you. My attention

Arnold took a stool at Blanche's feet, and opened the "First Book" of Paradise Lost. His "system" as a reader

of blank verse was simplicity itself. In poetry we are some of us (as many living poets can testify) all for

sound; and some of us (as few living poets can testify) all for sense. Arnold was for sound. He ended every

line inexorably with a full stop; and he got on to his full stop as fast as the inevitable impediment of the

"Of Man's first disobedience and the fruit. Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste. Brought death into the

world and all our woe. With loss of Eden till one greater Man. Restore us and regain the blissful seat. Sing

"Beautiful!" said Blanche. "What a shame it seems to have had Milton all this time in the library and never to

have read him yet! We will have Mornings with Milton, Arnold. He seems long; but we are both young, and

we may live to get to the end of him. Do you know dear, now I look at you again, you don't seem to have

"Yes. After what I saw at Craig Fernie, I grow more and more uneasy about Anne. You will understand that, I

Arnold looked back, in a violent hurry, from Blanche to Milton. That renewed reference to events at Craig

Fernie was a renewed reproach to him for his conduct at the inn. He attempted to silence her by pointing to

"Don't forget," he whispered, "that there is somebody in the room besides ourselves."

There was only one other chance of diverting her from the delicate subject. Arnold went on reading headlong,

two lines in advance of the place at which he had left off, with more sound and less sense than ever:

"Do wait a little, Arnold. I can't have Milton crammed down my throat in that way. Besides I had something

to say. Did I tell you that I consulted my uncle about Anne? I don't think I did. I caught him alone in this very

room. I told him all I have told you. I showed him Anne's letter. And I said, 'What do you think?' He took a

little time (and a great deal of snuff) before he would say what he thought. When he did speak, he told me I

might quite possibly be right in suspecting Anne's husband to be a very abominable person. His keeping

himself out of my way was (just as I thought) a suspicious circumstance, to begin with. And then there was

the sudden extinguishing of the candles, when I first went in. I thought (and Mrs. Inchbare thought) it was

done by the wind. Sir Patrick suspects it was done by the horrid man himself, to prevent me from seeing him

when I entered the room. I am firmly persuaded Sir Patrick is right. What do you think?"

"I think we had better go on," said Arnold, with his head down over his book. "We seem to be forgetting

"How you do worry about Milton! That last bit wasn't as interesting as the other. Is there any love in Paradise

Arnold was so quick about it that he lost his place. Instead of going on he went back. He read once more:

"I'm sure you did. When you said 'Sion hill' I recollect I thought of the Methodists directly. I couldn't have

thought of the Methodists, if you hadn't said 'Sion hill.' It stands to reason."

"I'll try the next page," said Arnold. "I can't have read that beforefor I haven't turned over yet."

Blanche threw herself back in her chair, and flung her handkerchief resignedly over her face. "The flies," she

explained. "I'm not going to sleep. Try the next page. Oh, dear me, try the next page!"

"Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view. Nor the deep tract of hell say first what cause. Moved our

Blanche suddenly threw the handkerchief off again, and sat bolt upright in her chair. "Shut it up," she cried. "I

" 'That happy state,' " said Blanche. "What does 'that happy state' mean? Marriage, of course! And marriage

reminds me of Anne. I won't have any more. Paradise Lost is painful. Shut it up. Well, my next question to

Sir Patrick was, of course, to know what he thought Anne's husband had done. The wretch had behaved

infamously to her in some way. In what way? Was it any thing to do with her marriage? My uncle considered

again. He thought it quite possible. Private marriages were dangerous things (he said)especially in

Scotland. He asked me if they had been married in Scotland. I couldn't tell himI only said, 'Suppose they

were? What then?' 'It's barely possible, in that case,' says Sir Patrick, 'that Miss Silvester may be feeling

uneasy about her marriage. She may even have reasonor may think she has reasonto doubt whether it is

Arnold started, and looked round at Geoffrey still sitting at the writingtable with his back turned on them.

Utterly as Blanche and Sir Patrick were mistaken in their estimate of Anne's position at Craig Fernie, they

had drifted, nevertheless, into discussing the very question in which Geoffrey and Miss Silvester were

interestedthe question of marriage in Scotland. It was impossible in Blanche's presence to tell Geoffrey

that he might do well to listen to Sir Patrick's opinion, even at secondhand. Perhaps the words had found

(He was listening. Blanche's last words had found their way to him, while he was pondering over his

halffinished letter to his brother. He waited to hear morewithout moving, and with the pen suspended in

Blanche proceeded, absently winding her fingers in and out of Arnold's hair as he sat at her feet:

"It flashed on me instantly that Sir Patrick had discovered the truth. Of course I told him so. He laughed, and

said I mustn't jump at conclusions We were guessing quite in the dark; and all the distressing things I had

noticed at the inn might admit of some totally different explanation. He would have gone on splitting straws

in that provoking way the whole morning if I hadn't stopped him. I was strictly logical. I said I had seen

Anne, and he hadn'tand that made all the difference. I said, 'Every thing that puzzled and frightened me in

the poor darling is accounted for now. The law must, and shall, reach that man, uncleand I'll pay for it!' I

was so much in earnest that I believe I cried a little. What do you think the dear old man did? He took me on

his knee and gave me a kiss; and he said, in the nicest way, that he would adopt my view, for the present, if I

would promise not to cry any more; andwait! the cream of it is to come!that he would put the view in

quite a new light to me as soon as I was composed again. You may imagine how soon I dried my eyes, and

what a picture of composure I presented in the course of half a minute. 'Let us take it for granted,' says Sir

Patrick, 'that this man unknown has really tried to deceive Miss Silvester, as you and I suppose. I can tell you

one thing: it's as likely as not that, in trying to overreach her, he may (without in the least suspecting it) have

(Geoffrey held his breath. The pen dropped unheeded from his fingers. It was coming. The light that his

"I was so interested, and it made such a tremendous impression on me, that I haven't forgotten a word. 'I

mustn't make that poor little head of yours ache with Scotch law,' my uncle said; 'I must put it plainly. There

are marriages allowed in Scotland, Blanche, which are called Irregular Marriagesand very abominable

things they are. But they have this accidental merit in the present case. It is extremely difficult for a man to

pretend to marry in Scotland, and not really to do it. And it is, on the other hand, extremely easy for a man to

drift into marrying in Scotland without feeling the slightest suspicion of having done it himself.' That was

(Geoffrey's ruddy color paled. If this was true he might be caught himself in the trap which he had schemed

"My uncle asked me if I understood him so far. It was as plain as the sun at noonday, of course I understood

him! 'Very well, thennow for the application!' says Sir Patrick. 'Once more supposing our guess to be the

right one, Miss Silvester may be making herself very unhappy without any real cause. If this invisible man at

Craig Fernie has actually meddled, I won't say with marrying her, but only with pretending to make her his

wife, and if he has attempted it in Scotland, the chances are nine to one (though he may not believe it, and

though she may not believe it) that he has really married her, after all.' My uncle's own words again! Quite

needless to say that, half an hour after they were out of his lips, I had sent them to Craig Fernie in a letter to

(Geoffrey's stolidlystaring eyes suddenly brightened. A light of the devil's own striking illuminated him. An

idea of the devil's own bringing entered his mind. He looked stealthily round at the man whose life he had

savedat the man who had devotedly served him in return. A hideous cunning leered at his mouth and

peeped out of his eyes. "Arnold Brinkworth pretended to be married to her at the inn. By the lord Harry!

that's a way out of it that never struck me before!" With that thought in his heart he turned back again to his

halffinished letter to Julius. For once in his life he was strongly, fiercely agitated. For once in his life he was

dauntedand that by his Own Thought! He had written to Julius under a strong sense of the necessity of

gaining time to delude Anne into leaving Scotland before he ventured on paying his addresses to Mrs.

Glenarm. His letter contained a string of clumsy excuses, intended to delay his return to his brother's house.

"No," he said to himself, as he read it again. "Whatever else may dothis won't! " He looked round once

In the mean time Blanche had not done yet. "No," she said, when Arnold proposed an adjournment to the

garden; "I have something more to say, and you are interested in it, this time." Arnold resigned himself to

listen, and worse still to answer, if there was no help for it, in the character of an innocent stranger who had

"Absolutely nothing! I know she received the letter yesterday morning. I ought to have had the answer today

"She couldn't have thought that, for reasons that I know of. Besides, in my letter yesterday I implored her to

tell me (if it was one line only) whether, in guessing at what her trouble was, Sir Patrick and I had not

guessed right. And here is the day getting on, and no answer! What am I to conclude?"

"Is it possible, Arnold, that we have not guessed right, after all? Is the wickedness of that man who blew the

candles out wickedness beyond our discovering? The doubt is so dreadful that I have made up my mind not to

bear it after today. I count on your sympathy and assistance when tomorrow comes!"

Arnold's heart sank. Some new complication was evidently gathering round him. He waited in silence to hear

"This is a secret," she said. "If that creature at the writingtable has ears for any thing but rowing and racing,

he mustn't hear this! Anne may come to me privately today while you are all at luncheon. If she doesn't

come and if I don't hear from her, then the mystery of her silence must be cleared up; and You must do it!"

"Don't make difficulties! If you can't find your way to Craig Fernie, I can help you. As for Anne, you know

what a charming person she is, and you know she will receive you perfectly, for my sake. I must and will

have some news of her. I can't break the laws of the household a second time. Sir Patrick sympathizes, but he

won't stir. Lady Lundie is a bitter enemy. The servants are threatened with the loss of their places if any one

of them goes near Anne. There is nobody but you. And to Anne you go tomorrow, if I don't see her or hear

This to the man who had passed as Anne's husband at the inn, and who had been forced into the most intimate

knowledge of Anne's miserable secret! Arnold rose to put Milton away, with the composure of sheer despair.

Any other secret he might, in the last resort, have confided to the discretion of a third person. But a woman's

secretwith a woman's reputation depending on his keeping itwas not to be confided to any body, under

any stress of circumstances whatever. "If Geoffrey doesn't get me out of this,," he thought, "I shall have no

As he replaced the book on the shelf, Lady Lundie entered the library from the garden.

"Improving my mind," replied Blanche. "Mr. Brinkworth and I have been reading Milton."

"Can you condescend so far, after reading Milton all the morning, as to help me with the invitations for the

"If you can condescend, Lady Lundie, after feeding the poultry all the morning, I must be humility itself after

With that little interchange of the acid amenities of feminine intercourse, stepmother and stepdaughter

withdrew to a writingtable, to put the virtue of hospitality in practice together.

Geoffrey was sitting with his elbows on the desk, and his clenched fists dug into his cheeks. Great drops of

perspiration stood on his forehead, and the fragments of a torn letter lay scattered all round him. He exhibited

symptoms of nervous sensibility for the first time in his lifehe started when Arnold spoke to him.

"From Miss Silvester?" asked Arnold, dropping his voice so as to prevent the ladies at the other end of the

"Did you hear Blanche say that she meant to send me to Craig Fernie tomorrow, if she failed to get news

"Wellthere's a limit to what a man can expect even from his best friend. I hope you won't ask me to be

Blanche's messenger tomorrow. I can't, and won't, go back to the inn as things are now."

"I have had enough of distressing Miss Silvester, and more than enough of deceiving Blanche."

"She doesn't take the same easy view that you and I do, Geoffrey, of my passing her off on the people of the

Geoffrey absently took up a paperknife. Still with his head down, he began shaving off the topmost layer of

paper from the blottingpad under his hand. Still with his head down, he abruptly broke the silence in a

Arnold told him once more what had happened at the inn. Geoffrey listened, without making any remark. He

balanced the paperknife vacantly on one of his fingers. He was strangely sluggish and strangely silent.

"All that is done and ended," said Arnold shaking him by the shoulder. "It rests with you now to get me out

of the difficulty I'm placed in with Blanche. Things must be settled with Miss Silvester today."

"And then" He looked at Arnold for the first time. "Then," he said, "you may consider it settled."

Arnold offered his hand in congratulation. Geoffrey never noticed it. His eyes were off the blottingpad

"I believe our friends are in the garden," said Arnold. "Sir Patrick may be among them. I'll go and see."

The instant his back was turned Geoffrey snatched up a sheet of notepaper. "Before I forget it!" he said to

himself. He wrote the word "Memorandum" at the top of the page, and added these lines beneath it:

"He asked for her by the name of his wife at the door. He said, at dinner, before the landlady and the waiter, 'I

take these rooms for my wife.' He made her say he was her husband at the same time. After that he stopped

After folding up the paper he hesitated for a moment. "No!" he thought, "It won't do to trust to what Miss

Lundie said about it. I can't be certain till I have consulted Sir Patrick himself."

He put the paper away in his pocket, and wiped the heavy perspiration from his forehead. He was palefor

Arnold pointed to the window. Sir Patrick was crossing the lawn, on his way to the library with a newspaper

in his hand; and the guests at Windygates were accompanying him. Sir Patrick was smiling, and saying

nothing. The guests were talking excitedly at the tops of their voices. There had apparently been a collision of

some kind between the old school and the new. Arnold directed Geoffrey's attention to the state of affairs on

"I'll consult Sir Patrick, if I take him by the scruff of the neck and carry him into the next county!" He rose to

his feet as he spoke those words, and emphasized them under his breath with an oath.

THE object of the invasion of the library by the party in the garden appeared to be twofold.

Sir Patrick had entered the room to restore the newspaper to the place from which he had taken it. The guests,

to the number of five, had followed him, to appeal in a body to Geoffrey Delamayn. Between these two

apparently dissimilar motives there was a connection, not visible on the surface, which was now to assert

Of the five guests, two were middleaged gentlemen belonging to that large, but indistinct, division of the

human family whom the hand of Nature has painted in unobtrusive neutral tint. They had absorbed the ideas

of their time with such receptive capacity as they possessed; and they occupied much the same place in

society which the chorus in an opera occupies on the stage. They echoed the prevalent sentiment of the

The three remaining guests were on the right side of thirty. All profoundly versed in horseracing, in athletic

sports, in pipes, beer, billiards, and betting. All profoundly ignorant of every thing else under the sun. All

gentlemen by birth, and all marked as such by the stamp of "a University education." They may be personally

described as faint reflections of Geoffrey; and they may be numerically distinguished (in the absence of all

Sir Patrick laid the newspaper on the table and placed himself in one of the comfortable armchairs. He was

instantly assailed, in his domestic capacity, by his irrepressible sisterinlaw. Lady Lundie dispatched

Blanche to him with the list of her guests at the dinner. "For your uncle's approval, my dear, as head of the

While Sir Patrick was looking over the list, and while Arnold was making his way to Blanche, at the back of

her uncle's chair, One, Two, and Threewith the Chorus in attendance on themdescended in a body on

Geoffrey, at the other end of the room, and appealed in rapid succession to his superior authority, as follows:

"I say, Delamayn. We want You. Here is Sir Patrick running a regular Muck at us. Calls us aboriginal

Britons. Tells us we ain't educated. Doubts if we could read, write, and cipher, if he tried us. Swears he's sick

of fellows showing their arms and legs, and seeing which fellow's hardest, and who's got three belts of muscle

across his wind, and who hasn't, and the like of that. Says a most infernal thing of a chap. Saysbecause a

chap likes a healthy outofdoor life, and trains for rowing and running, and the rest of it, and don't see his

way to stewing over his bookstherefore he's safe to commit all the crimes in the calendar, murder included.

Saw your name down in the newspaper for the FootRace; and said, when we asked him if he'd taken the

odds, he'd lay any odds we liked against you in the other Race at the Universitymeaning, old boy, your

Degree. Nasty, that about the Degreein the opinion of Number One. Bad taste in Sir Patrick to rake up

what we never mention among ourselvesin the opinion of Number Two. UnEnglish to sneer at a man in

that way behind his backin the opinion of Number Three. Bring him to book, Delamayn. Your name's in

The two choral gentlemen agreed (in the minor key) with the general opinion. "Sir Patrick's views are

certainly extreme, Smith?" "I think, Jones, it's desirable to hear Mr. Delamayn on the other side."

Geoffrey looked from one to the other of his admirers with an expression on his face which was quite new to

"You can't argue with Sir Patrick yourselves," he said, "and you want me to do it?"

Not astonishment only, but downright stupefaction, struck the deputation from the garden speechless.

Without saying a word more to any of the persons standing near him, Geoffrey walked straight up to Sir

Patrick's armchair, and personally addressed him. The satellites followed, and listened (as well they might)

"You will lay any odds, Sir," said Geoffrey "against me taking my Degree? You're quite right. I sha'n't take

my Degree. You doubt whether I, or any of those fellows behind me, could read, write, and cipher correctly if

you tried us. You're right againwe couldn't. You say you don't know why men like Me, and men like

Them, may not begin with rowing and running and the like of that, and end in committing all the crimes in

the calendar: murder included. Well! you may be right again there. Who's to know what may happen to him?

or what he may not end in doing before he dies? It may be Another, or it may be Me. How do I know? and

how do you?" He suddenly turned on the deputation, standing thunderstruck behind him. "If you want to

There was something, not only in the shamelessness of the declaration itself, but in the fierce pleasure that the

speaker seemed to feel in making it, which struck the circle of listeners, Sir Patrick included, with a

In the midst of the silence a sixth guest appeared on the lawn, and stepped into the librarya silent, resolute,

unassuming, elderly man who had arrived the day before on a visit to Windygates, and who was well known,

"There's no discussionwe are all agreed," cried Geoffrey, answering boisterously for the rest. "The more

After a glance at Geoffrey, the surgeon suddenly checked himself on the point of advancing to the inner part

"I beg your pardon," said Sir Patrick, addressing himself to Geoffrey, with a grave dignity which was quite

new in Arnold's experience of him. "We are not all agreed. I decline, Mr. Delamayn, to allow you to connect

me with such an expression of feeling on your part as we have just heard. The language you have used leaves

me no alternative but to meet your statement of what you suppose me to have said by my statement of what I

really did say. It is not my fault if the discussion in the garden is revived before another audience in this

He looked as he spoke to Arnold and Blanche, and from them to the surgeon standing at the window.

The surgeon had found an occupation for himself which completely isolated him among the rest of the guests.

Keeping his own face in shadow, he was studying Geoffrey's face, in the full flood of light that fell on it, with

a steady attention which must have been generally remarked, if all eyes had not been turned toward Sir

While Sir Patrick had been speaking Geoffrey had seated himself near the window, doggedly impenetrable to

the reproof of which he was the object. In his impatience to consult the one authority competent to decide the

question of Arnold's position toward Anne, he had sided with Sir Patrick, as a means of ridding himself of the

unwelcome presence of his friendsand he had defeated his own purpose, thanks to his own brutish

incapability of bridling himself in the pursuit of it. Whether he was now discouraged under these

circumstances, or whether he was simply resigned to bide his time till his time came, it was impossible,

judging by outward appearances, to say. With a heavy dropping at the corners of his mouth, with a stolid

indifference staring dull in his eyes, there he sat, a man forearmed, in his own obstinate neutrality, against all

Sir Patrick took up the newspaper which he had brought in from the garden, and looked once more to see if

No! The surgeon's attention was absorbed in his own subject. There he was in the same position, with his

mind still hard at work on something in Geoffrey which at once interested and puzzled it! "That man," he was

thinking to himself, "has come here this morning after traveling from London all night. Does any ordinary

"Our little discussion in the garden," resumed Sir Patrick, answering Blanche's inquiring look as she bent

over him, "began, my dear, in a paragraph here announcing Mr. Delamayn's forthcoming appearance in a

footrace in the neighborhood of London. I hold very unpopular opinions as to the athletic displays which are

so much in vogue in England just now. And it is possible that I may have expressed those opinions a li ttle

too strongly, in the heat of discussion, with gentlemen who are opposed to meI don't doubt,

A low groan of protest rose from One, Two, and Three, in return for the little compliment which Sir Patrick

had paid to them. "How about rowing and running ending in the Old Bailey and the gallows? You said that,

The two choral gentlemen looked at each other, and agreed with the prevalent sentiment. "It came to that, I

The only two men who still cared nothing about it were Geoffrey and the surgeon. There sat the first, stolidly

neutralindifferent alike to the attack and the defense. There stood the second, pursuing his

investigationwith the growing interest in it of a man who was beginning to see his way to the end.

"Hear my defense, gentlemen," continued Sir Patrick, as courteously as ever. "You belong, remember, to a

nation which especially claims to practice the rules of fair play. I must beg to remind you of what I said in the

garden. I started with a concession. I admittedas every person of the smallest sense must admitthat a

man will, in the great majority of cases, be all the fitter for mental exercise if he wisely combines physical

exercise along with it. The whole question between the two is a question of proportion and degree, and my

complaint of the present time is that the present time doesn't see it. Popular opinion in England seems to me

to be, not only getting to consider the cultivation of the muscles as of equal importance with the cultivation of

the mind, but to be actually extendingin practice, if not in theoryto the absurd and dangerous length of

putting bodily training in the first place of importance, and mental training in the second. To take a case in

point: I can discover no enthusiasm in the nation any thing like so genuine and any thing like so general as

the enthusiasm excited by your University boatrace. Again: I see this Athletic Education of yours made a

matter of public celebration in schools and colleges; and I ask any unprejudiced witness to tell me which

excites most popular enthusiasm, and which gets the most prominent place in the public journalsthe

exhibition, indoors (on Prizeday), of what the boys can do with their minds? or the exhibition, out of doors

(on Sportsday), of what the boys can do with their bodies? You know perfectly well which performance

excites the loudest cheers, which occupies the prominent place in the newspapers, and which, as a necessary

Another murmur from One, Two, and Three. "We have nothing to say to that, Sir; have it all your own way,

Another ratification of agreement with the prevalent opinion between Smith and Jones.

"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "We are all of one mind as to which way the public feeling sets. If it is a

feeling to be respected and encouraged, show me the national advantage which has resulted from it. Where is

the influence of this modern outburst of manly enthusiasm on the serious concerns of life? and how has it

improved the character of the people at large? Are we any of us individually readier than we ever were to

sacrifice our own little private interests to the public good? Are we dealing with the serious social questions

of our time in a conspicuously determined, downright, and definite way? Are we becoming a visibly and

indisputably purer people in our code of commercial morals? Is there a healthier and higher tone in those

public amusements which faithfully reflect in all countries the public taste? Produce me affirmative answers

to these questions, which rest on solid proof, and I'll accept the present mania for athletic sports as something

better than an outbreak of our insular boastfulness and our insular barbarity in a new form."

"That is the question," rejoined Sir Patrick. "You admit the existence of the public feeling and I ask, what

"That's a fair challenge," replied Sir Patrick. "I am bound to meet you on that new ground. I won't point,

gentlemen, by way of answer, to the coarseness which I can see growing on our national manners, or to the

deterioration which appears to me to be spreading more and more widely in our national tastes. You may tell

me with perfect truth that I am too old a man to be a fair judge of manners and tastes which have got beyond

my standards. We will try the issue, as it now stands between us, on its abstract merits only. I assert that a

state of public feeling which does practically place physical training, in its estimation, above moral and

mental training, is a positively bad and dangerous state of feeling in this, that it encourages the inbred

reluctance in humanity to submit to the demands which moral and mental cultivation must inevitably make

on it. Which am I, as a boy, naturally most ready to doto try how high I can jump? or to try how much I

can learn? Which training comes easiest to me as a young man? The training which teaches me to handle an

oar? or the training which teaches me to return good for evil, and to love my neighbor as myself? Of those

two experiments, of those two trainings, which ought society in England to meet with the warmest

encouragement? And which does society in England practically encourage, as a matter of fact?"

"I said," admitted Sir Patrick, "that a man will go all the better to his books for his healthy physical exercise.

And I say that againprovided the physical exercise be restrained within fit limits. But when public feeling

enters into the question, and directly exalts the bodily exercises above the booksthen I say public feeling is

in a dangerous extreme. The bodily exercises, in that case, will be uppermost in the youth's thoughts, will

have the strongest hold on his interest, will take the lion's share of his time, and will, by those

meansbarring the few purely exceptional instancesslowly and surely end in leaving him, to all good

moral and mental purpose, certainly an uncultivated, and, possibly, a dangerous man."

A cry from the camp of the adversaries: "He's got to it at last! A man who leads an outofdoor life, and uses

the strength that God has given to him, is a dangerous man. Did any body ever hear the like of that?"

Cry reverberated, with variations, by the two human echoes: "No! Nobody ever heard the like of that!"

"Clear your minds of cant, gentlemen," answered Sir Patrick. "The agricultural laborer leads an outofdoor

life, and uses the strength that God has given to him. The sailor in the merchant service does the name. Both

are an uncultivated, a shamefully uncultivated, classand see the result! Look at the Map of Crime, and you

will find the most hideous offenses in the calendar, committednot in the towns, where the average man

doesn't lead an outofdoor life, doesn't as a rule, use his strength, but is, as a rule, comparatively

cultivatednot in the towns, but in the agricultural districts. As for the English sailorexcept when the

Royal Navy catches and cultivates himask Mr. Brinkworth, who has served in the merchant navy, what

sort of specimen of the moral influence of outofdoor life and muscular cultivation he is."

"In nine cases out of ten," said Arnold, "he is as idle and vicious as ruffian as walks the earth."

Another cry from the Opposition: "Are we agricultural laborers? Are we sailors in the merchant service?"

A smart reverberation from the human echoes: "Smith! am I a laborer?" "Jones! am I a sailor?"

"Pray let us not be personal, gentlemen," said Sir Patrick. "I am speaking generally, and I can only meet

extreme objections by pushing my argument to extreme limits. The laborer and the sailor have served my

purpose. If the laborer and the sailor offend you, by all means let them walk off the stage! I hold to the

position which I advanced just now. A man may be well born, well off, well dressed, well fedbut if he is

an uncultivated man, he is (in spite of all those advantages) a man with special capacities for evil in him, on

that very account. Don't mistake me! I am far from saving that the present rage for exclusively muscular

accomplishments must lead inevitably downward to the lowest deep of depravity. Fortunately for society, all

special depravity is more or less certainly the result, in the first instance, of special temptation. The ordinary

mass of us, thank God, pass through life without being exposed to other than ordinary temptations.

Thousands of the young gentlemen, devoted to the favorite pursuits of the present time, will get through

existence with no worse consequences to themselves than a coarse tone of mind and manners, and a

lamentable incapability of feeling any of those higher and gentler influences which sweeten and purify the

lives of more cultivated men. But take the other case (which may occur to any body), the case of a special

temptation trying a modern young man of your prosperous class and of mine. And let me beg Mr. Delamayn

to honor with his attention what I have now to say, because it refers to the opinion which I did really

expressas distinguished from the opinion which he affects to agree with, and which I never advanced."

Geoffrey's indifference showed no signs of giving way. "Go on!" he saidand still sat looking straight

"Take the example which we have now in view," pursued Sir Patrick"the example of an average young

gentleman of our time, blest with every advantage that physical cultivation can bestow on him. Let this man

be tried by a temptation which insidiously calls into action, in his own interests, the savage instincts latent in

humanitythe instincts of selfseeking and cruelty which are at the bottom of all crime. Let this man be

placed toward some other person, guiltless of injuring him, in a position which demands one of two

sacrifices: the sacrifice of the other person, or the sacrifice of his own interests and his own desires. His

neighbor's happiness, or his neighbor's life, stands, let us say, between him and the attainment of something

that he wants. He can wreck the happiness, or strike down the life, without, to his knowledge, any fear of

suffering for it himself. What is to prevent him, being the man he is, from going straight to his end, on those

conditions? Will the skill in rowing, the swiftness in running, the admirable capacity and endurance in other

physical exercises, which he has attained, by a strenuous cultivation in this kind that has excluded any

similarly strenuous cultivation in other kindswill these physical attainments help him to win a purely moral

victory over his own selfishness and his own cruelty? They won't even help him to see that it is selfishness,

and that it is cruelty. The essential principle of his rowing and racing (a harmless principle enough, if you can

be sure of applying it to rowing and racing only) has taught him to take every advantage of another man that

his superior strength and superior cunning can suggest. There has been nothing in his training to soften the

barbarous hardness in his heart, and to enlighten the barbarous darkness in his mind. Temptation finds this

man defenseless, when temptation passes his way. I don't care who he is, or how high he stands accidentally

in the social scalehe is, to all moral intents and purposes, an Animal, and nothing more. If my happiness

stands in his wayand if he can do it with impunity to himselfhe will trample down my happiness. If my

life happens to be the next obstacle he encountersand if he can do it with impunity to himselfhe will

trample down my life. Not, Mr. Delamayn, in the character of a victim to irresistible fatality, or to blind

chance; but in the character of a man who has sown the seed, and reaps the harvest. That, Sir, is the case

which I put as an extreme case only, when this discussion began. As an extreme case onlybut as a perfectly

Before the advocates of the other side of the question could open their lips to reply, Geoffrey suddenly flung

"Stop!" he cried, threatening the others, in his fierce impatience to answer for himself, with his clenched fist.

Geoffrey turned and looked at Sir Patrick, as if Sir Patrick had personally insulted him.

"Who is this anonymous man, who finds his way to his own ends, and pities nobody and sticks at nothing?"

"What right have you," cried Geoffreyutterly forgetful, in the strange exasperation that had seized on him,

of the interest that he had in controlling himself before Sir Patrick"what right have you to pick out an

example of a rowing man who is an infernal scoundrelwhen it's quite as likely that a rowing man may be a

good fellow: ay! and a better fellow, if you come to that, than ever stood in your shoes!"

"If the one case is quite as likely to occur as the other (which I readily admit)," answered Sir Patrick, "I have

surely a right to choose which case I please for illustration. (Wait, Mr. Delamayn! These are the last words I

have to say and I mean to say them.) I have taken the examplenot of a specially depraved man, as you

erroneously supposebut of an average man, with his average share of the mean, cruel, and dangerous

qualities, which are part and parcel of unreformed human natureas your religion tells you, and as you may

see for yourself, if you choose to look at your untaught fellowcreatures any where. I suppose that man to be

tried by a temptation to wickedness, out of the common; and I show, to the best of my ability, how

completely the moral and mental neglect of himself, which the present material tone of public feeling in

England has tacitly encouraged, leaves him at the mercy of all the worst instincts in his nature; and how

surely, under those conditions, he must go down (gentleman as he is) step by stepas the lowest vagabond in

the streets goes down under his special temptationfrom the beginning in ignorance to the end in crime. If

you deny my right to take such an example as that, in illustration of the views I advocate, you must either

deny that a special temptation to wickedness can assail a man in the position of a gentleman, or you must

assert that gentlemen who are naturally superior to all temptation are the only gentlemen who devote

themselves to athletic pursuits. There is my defense. In stating my case, I have spoken out of my own sincere

respect for the interests of virtue and of learning; out of my own sincere admiration for those young men

among us who are resisting the contagion of barbarism about them. In their future is the future hope of

Angrily ready with a violent personal reply, Geoffrey found himself checked, in his turn by another person

with something to say, and with a resolution to say it at that particular moment.

For some little time past the surgeon had discontinued his steady investigation of Geoffrey's face, and had

given all his attention to the discussion, with the air of a man whose selfimposed task had come to an end.

As the last sentence fell from the last speaker's lips, he interposed so quickly and so skillfully between

"There is something still wanting to make Sir Patrick's statement of the case complete," he said. "I think I can

supply it, from the result of my own professional experience. Before I say what I have to say, Mr. Delamayn

will perhaps excuse me, if I venture on giving him a caution to control himself."

"I am recommending you to keep your tempernothing more. There are plenty of men who can fly into a

"I don't think the state of your health, Mr. Delamayn, is quite so satisfactory as you may be disposed to

Geoffrey turned to his admirers and adherents with a roar of derisive laughter. The admirers and adherents all

echoed him together. Arnold and Blanche smiled at each other. Even Sir Patrick looked as if he could hardly

credit the evidence of his own ears. There stood the modern Hercules, selfvindicated as a Hercules, before

all eyes that looked at him. And there, opposite, stood a man whom he could have killed with one blow of his

"You are a rare fellow!" said Geoffrey, half in jest and half in anger. "What's the matter with me?"

"I have undertaken to give you, what I believe to be, a necessary caution," answered the surgeon. "I have

not undertaken to tell you what I think is the matter with you. That may be a question for consideration some

little time hence. In the meanwhile, I should like to put my impression about you to the test. Have you any

objection to answer a question on a matter of no particular importance relating to yourself?"

"I have noticed something in your behavior while Sir Patrick was speaking. You are as much interested in

opposing his views as any of those gentlemen about you. I don't understand your sitting in silence, and

leaving it entirely to the others to put the case on your sideuntil Sir Patrick said something which happened

to irritate you. Had you, all the time before that, no answer ready in your own mind?"

"Perhaps you feltthough you knew your objections to be good onesthat it was hardly worth while to take

the trouble of putting them into words? In short, you let your friends answer for you, rather than make the

Geoffrey looked at his medical adviser with a sudden curiosity and a sudden distrust.

"I say," he asked, "how do you come to know what's going on in my mindwithout my telling you of it?"

"It is my business to find out what is going on in people's bodiesand to do that it is sometimes necessary

for me to find out (if I can) what is going on in their minds. If I have rightly interpreted what was going on in

your mind, there is no need for me to press my question. You have answered it already."

"There is a side to this subject," he said, "which you have not touched on yet. There is a Physical objection to

the present rage for muscular exercises of all sorts, which is quite as strong, in its way, as the Moral

objection. You have stated the consequences as they may affect the mind. I can state the consequences as they

"From my own experience. I can tell you, as a medical man, that a proportion, and not by any means a small

one, of the young men who are now putting themselves to violent athletic tests of their strength and

endurance, are taking that course to the serious and permanent injury of their own health. The public who

attend rowingmatches, footraces, and other exhibitions of that sort, see nothing but the successful results of

muscular training. Fathers and mothers at home see the failures. There are households in Englandmiserable

households, to be counted, Sir Patrick, by more than ones and twosin which there are young men who have

to thank the strain laid on their constitutions by the popular physical displays of the present time, for being

Geoffrey carelessly nodded his head. His irritation had had time to subside; the stolid indifference had got

possession of him again. He had resumed his chairhe sat, with outstretched legs, staring stupidly at the

pattern on the carpet. "What does it matter to Me?" was the sentiment expressed all over him, from head to

"I can see no remedy for this sad state of things," he said, "as long as the public feeling remains what the

public feeling is now. A fine healthylooking young man, with a superb muscular development, longs

(naturally enough) to distinguish himself like others. The trainingauthorities at his college, or elsewhere,

take him in hand (naturally enough again) on the strength of outward appearances. And whether they have

been right or wrong in choosing him is more than they can say, until the experiment has been tried, and the

mischief has been, in many cases, irretrievably done. How many of them are aware of the important

physiological truth, that the muscular power of a man is no fair guarantee of his vital power? How many of

them know that we all have (as a great French writer puts it) two lives in usthe surface life of the muscles,

and the inner life of the heart, lungs, and brain? Even if they did know thiseven with medical men to help

themit would be in the last degree doubtful, in most cases, whether any previous examination would result

in any reliable discovery of the vital fitness of the man to undergo the stress of muscular exertion laid on him.

Apply to any of my brethren; and they will tell you, as the result of their own professional observation, that I

am, in no sense, overstating this serious evil, or exaggerating the deplorable and dangerous consequences to

which it leads. I have a patient at this moment, who is a young man of twenty, and who possesses one of the

finest muscular developments I ever saw in my life. If that young man had consulted me, before he followed

the example of the other young men about him, I can not honestly say that I could have foreseen the results.

As things are, after going through a certain amount of muscular training, after performing a certain number of

muscular feats, he suddenly fainted one day, to the astonishment of his family and friends. I was called in and

I have watched the case since. He will probably live, but he will never recover. I am obliged to take

precautions with this youth of twenty which I should take with an old man of eighty. He is big enough and

muscular enough to sit to a painter as a model for Samsonand only last week I saw him swoon away like a

"Name!" cried Geoffrey's admirers, still fighting the battle on their side, in the absence of any encouragement

"I am not in the habit of mentioning my patients' names," replied the surgeon. "But if you insist on my

In a pause of breathless silencewith the eyes of every person in the room eagerly fastened on himthe

As soon as the general stupefaction was allayed, the general incredulity asserted itself as a matter of course.

The man who first declared that "seeing" was "believing" laid his finger (whether he knew it himself or not)

on one of the fundamental follies of humanity. The easiest of all evidence to receive is the evidence that

requires no other judgment to decide on it than the judgment of the eyeand it will be, on that account, the

evidence which humanity is most ready to credit, as long as humanity lasts. The eyes of every body looked at

Geoffrey; and the judgment of every body decided, on the evidence there visible, that the surgeon must be

wrong. Lady Lundie herself (disturbed over her dinner invitations) led the general protest. "Mr. Delamayn in

broken health!" she exclaimed, appealing to the better sense of her eminent medical guest. "Really, now, you

Stung into action for the second time by the startling assertion of which he had been made the subject,

Geoffrey rose, and looked the surgeon, steadily and insolently, straight in the face.

"One moment, Mr. Delamayn. I admit that I may have been wrong in directing the general attention to you.

You have a right to complain of my having answered too publicly the public challenge offered to me by your

friends. I apologize for having done that. But I don't retract a single word of what I have said on the subject of

"I'd ask you to step out on the lawn there and I'd show you whether I'm a brokendown man or not."

"Mr. Delamayn," he said, "you were invited here in the character of a gentleman, and you are a guest in a

"No! no!" said the surgeon, good humoredly. "Mr. Delamayn is using a strong argument, Sir Patrickand

that is all. If I were twenty years younger," he went on, addressing himself to Geoffrey, "and if I did step out

on the lawn with you, the result wouldn't affect the question between us in the least. I don't say that the

violent bodily exercises in which you are famous have damaged your muscular power. I assert that they have

damaged your vital power. In what particular way they have affected it I don't consider myself bound to tell

you. I simply give you a warning, as a matter of common humanity. You will do well to be content with the

success you have already achieved in the field of athletic pursuits, and to alter your mode of life for the

future. Accept my excuses, once more, for having said this publicly instead of privatelyand don't forget my

He turned to move away to another part of the room. Geoffrey fairly forced him to return to the subject.

"Wait a bit," he said. "You have had your innings. My turn now. I can't give it words as you do; but I can

come to the point. And, by the Lord, I'll fix you to it! In ten days or a fortnight from this I'm going into

"I have been asked to row in the Race, next spring; and I have said I will. Do you tell me, in so many words,

"Back your opinion!" cried Geoffrey, tearing his bettingbook out of his pocket. "I lay you an even hundred

With that final reply the surgeon walked away to the other end of the library. Lady Lundie (taking Blanche in

custody) withdrew, at the same time, to return to the serious business of her invitations for the dinner.

Geoffrey turned defiantly, book in hand, to his college friends about him. The British blood was up; and the

British resolution to bet, which successfully defies common decency and commonlaw from one end of the

Sir Patrick rose in undisguised disgust, and followed the surgeon. One, Two, and Three, invited to business

by their illustrious friend. shook their thick heads at him knowingly, and answered with one accord, in one

"One of you back him!" persisted Geoffrey, appealing to the two choral gentlemen in the background, with

his temper fast rising to fever heat. The two choral gentlemen compared notes, as usual. "We weren't born

"Smith!" said Geoffrey, with a sudden assumption of politeness ominous of something unpleasant to come.

"You're a couple of infernal cadsand you haven't got a hundred pound between you!"

"Come! come!" said Arnold, interfering for the first time. "This is shameful, Geoffrey!"

"If you must be a fool," returned Arnold, a little irritably on his side, "and if nothing else will keep you quiet,

His highest aspirations were satisfied; his temper was in perfect order again. He entered the bet in his book;

and made his excuses to Smith and Jones in the heartiest way. "No offense, old chaps! Shake hands!" The

two choral gentlemen were enchanted with him. "The English aristocracyeh, Smith?" "Blood and

As soon as he had spoken, Arnold's conscience reproached him: not for betting (who is ashamed of that form

of gambling in England?) but for "backing the doctor." With the best intention toward his friend, he was

speculating on the failure of his friend's health. He anxiously assured Geoffrey that no man in the room could

be more heartily persuaded that the surgeon was wrong than himself. "I don't cry off from the bet," he said.

"Bother all that!" answered Geoffrey, with the steady eye to business, which was one of the choicest virtues

in his character. "A bet's a betand hang your sentiment!" He drew Arnold by the arm out of earshot of the

others. "I say!" he asked, anxiously. "Do you think I've set the old fogy's back up?"

"I haven't put that little matter to him yetabout marrying in Scotland, you know. Suppose he cuts up rough

with me if I try him now?" His eye wandered cunningly, as he put the question, to the farther end of the

room. The surgeon was looking over a portfolio of prints. The ladies were still at work on their notes of

invitation. Sir Patrick was alone at the bookshelves immersed in a volume which he had just taken down.

"Make an apology," suggested Arnold. "Sir Patrick may be a little irritable and bitter; but he's a just man and

a kind man. Say you were not guilty of any intentional disrespect toward himand you will say enough."

Sir Patrick, deep in an old Venetian edition of The Decameron, found himself suddenly recalled from

"I want to make an apology," said Geoffrey. "Let bygones be bygonesand that sort of thing. I wasn't

guilty of any intentional disrespect toward you. Forgive and forget. Not half a bad motto, Sireh?"

It was clumsily expressedbut still it was an apology. Not even Geoffrey could appeal to Sir Patrick's

"Not a word more, Mr. Delamayn!" said the polite old man. "Accept my excuses for any thing which I may

Having met the advance made to him, in those terms, he paused, expecting Geoffrey to leave him free to

return to the Decameron. To his unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey suddenly stooped over him, and

Sir Patrick put back the Decameron; and bowed in freezing silence. The confidence of the Honorable

Geoffrey Delamayn was the last confidence in the world into which he desired to be drawn. "This is the

"It's about a friend of mine," pursued Geoffrey; leading the way toward one of the windows. "He's in a

scrape, my friend is. And I want to ask your advice. It's strictly private, you know." There he came to a full

Sir Patrick declined, either by word or g esture, to exhibit the slightest anxiety to hear a word more.

Sir Patrick pointed to his lame foot. "I have had my allowance of walking this morning," he said. "Let my

Geoffrey looked about him for a substitute for the garden, and led the way back again toward one of the

convenient curtained recesses opening out of the inner wall of the library. "We shall be private enough here,"

Sir Patrick made a final effort to escape the proposed conferencean undisguised effort, this time

"Pray forgive me, Mr. Delamayn. Are you quite sure that you apply to the right person, in applying to me?"

"Yes. It's a scrape with a woman. Here in Scotland. My friend don't know whether he's married to her or not."

To Geoffrey's reliefby no means unmixed with surpriseSir Patrick not only showed no further

reluctance to be consulted by him, but actually advanced to meet his wishes, by leading the way to the recess

that was nearest to them. The quick brain of the old lawyer had put Geoffrey's application to him for

assistance, and Blanche's application to him for assistance, together; and had built its own theory on the basis

thus obtained. "Do I see a connection between the present position of Blanche's governess, and the present

position of Mr. Delamayn's 'friend?' " thought Sir Patrick. "Stranger extremes than that have met me in my

The two strangelyassorted companions seated themselves, one on each side of a little table in the recess.

Arnold and the other guests had idled out again on to the lawn. The surgeon with his prints, and the ladies

with their invitations, were safely absorbed in a distant part of the library. The conference between the two

men, so trifling in appearance, so terrible in its destined influence, not over Anne's future only, but over the

future of Arnold and Blanche, was, to all practical purposes, a conference with closed doors.

"He being a single man, and she being a single woman, at the time? And both in Scotland?"

Geoffrey hesitated. The art of stating circumstances implies the cultivation of a very rare giftthe gift of

arranging ideas. No one was better acquainted with this truth than Sir Patrick. He was purposely puzzling

Geoffrey at starting, under the firm conviction that his client had something to conceal from him. The one

process that could be depended on for extracting the truth, under those circumstances, was the process of

interrogation. If Geoffrey was submitted to it, at the outset, his cunning might take the alarm. Sir Patrick's

object was to make the man himself invite interrogation. Geoffrey invited it forthwith, by attempting to state

the circumstances, and by involving them in the usual confusion. Sir Patrick waited until he had thoroughly

"Would it be easier to you if I asked a few questions?" he inquired, innocently.

"I am quite at your service. Suppose we clear the ground to begin with? Are you at liberty to mention

"Yes. Were your friend and the ladyat some time in the present yeartraveling together in Scotland?"

"Oh? They were meeting each other at an inn. Which was first at the rendezvous?"

"The woman was first. Stop a bit! We are getting to it now." He produced from his pocket the written

memorandum of Arnold's proceedings at Craig Fernie, which he had taken down from Arnold's own lips.

"I've got a bit of note here," he went on. "Perhaps you'd like to have a look at it?"

Sir Patrick took the noteread it rapidly through to himselfthen reread it, sentence by sentence, to

" 'He asked for her by the name of his wife, at the door,' " read Sir Patrick. "Meaning, I presume, the door of

the inn? Had the lady previously given herself out as a married woman to the people of the inn?"

" 'He said at dinner, before the landlady and the waiter, I take these rooms for my wife. He made her say he

was her husband, at the same time.' Was that done jocosely, Mr. Delamayneither by the lady or the

"You mean it was done to look like earnest, and so to deceive the landlady and the waiter?"

" 'After that, he stopped all night.' Stopped in the rooms he had taken for himself and his wife?"

"That is to say, he kept up the deception with the people of the inn? and left the lady behind him, in the

"At the time when they met at the inn, had they either of them arrived in Scotland, from the place in which

Geoffrey hesitated. There could be no difficulty in answering for Anne. Lady Lundie and her domestic circle

had occupied Windygates for a much longer period than three weeks before the date of the lawnparty. The

question, as it affected Arnold, was the only question that required reflection. After searching his memory for

details of the conversation which had taken place between them, when he and Arnold had met at the

lawnparty, Geoffrey recalled a certain reference on the part of his friend to a performance at the Edinburgh

theatre, which at once decided the question of time. Arnold had been necessarily detained in Edinburgh,

before his arrival at Windygates, by legal business connected with his inheritance; and he, like Anne, had

certainly been in Scotland, before they met at Craig Fernie, for a longer period than a period of three weeks

He accordingly informed Sir Patrick that the lady and gentleman had been in Scotland for more than

twentyone daysand then added a question on his own behalf: "Don't let me hurry you, Sirbut, shall you

"I shall have done, after two more questions," answered Sir Patrick. "Am I to understand that the lady claims,

on the strength of the circumstances which you have mentioned to me, to be your friend's wife?"

Geoffrey made an affirmative reply. The readiest means of obtaining Sir Patrick's opinion was, in this case, to

answer, Yes. In other words, to represent Anne (in the character of "the lady") as claiming to be married to

Having made this concession to circumstances, he was, at the same time, quite cunning enough to see that it

was of vital importance to the purpose which he had in view, to confine himself strictly to this one perversion

of the truth. There could be plainly no depending on the lawyer's opinion, unless that opinion was given on

the facts exactly a s they had occurred at the inn. To the facts he had, thus far, carefully adhered; and to the

facts (with the one inevitable departure from them which had been just forced on him) he determined to

"Before I give my opinion I am bound to preface it by a personal statement which you are not to take, if you

please, as a statement of the law. You ask me to decideon the facts with which you have supplied

"My experience, Mr. Delamayn, is that any single man, in Scotland, may marry any single woman, at any

time, and under any circumstances. In short, after thirty years' practice as a lawyer, I don't know what is not a

In spite of his cunning; in spite of his selfcommand, his eyes brightened as he said those words. And the

tone in which he spokethough too carefully guarded to be a tone of triumphwas, to a fine ear,

His first suspicion, when he sat down to the conference, had been the obvious suspicion that, in speaking of

"his friend," Geoffrey was speaking of himself. But, like all lawyers, he habitually distrusted first

impressions, his own included. His object, thus far, had been to solve the problem of Geoffrey's true position

and Geoffrey's real motive. He had set the snare accordingly, and had caught his bird.

It was now plain to his mindfirst, that this man who was consulting him, was, in all probability, really

speaking of the case of another person: secondly, that he had an interest (of what nature it was impossible yet

to say) in satisfying his own mind that "his friend" was, by the law of Scotland, indisputably a married man.

Having penetrated to that extent the secret which Geoffrey was concealing from him, he abandoned the hope

of making any further advance at that present sitting. The next question to clear up in the investigation, was

the question of who the anonymous "lady" might be. And the next discovery to make was, whether "the lady"

could, or could not, be identified with Anne Silvester. Pending the inevitable delay in reaching that result, the

straight course was (in Sir Patrick's present state of uncertainty) the only course to follow in laying down the

law. He at once took the question of the marriage in handwith no concealment whatever, as to the legal

"Don't rush to conclusions, Mr. Delamayn," he said. "I have only told you what my general experience is thus

far. My professional opinion on the special case of your friend has not been given yet."

Geoffrey's face clouded again. Sir Patrick carefully noted the new change in it.

"The law of Scotland," he went on, "so far as it relates to Irregular Marriages, is an outrage on common

decency and commonsense. If you think my language in thus describing it too strongI can refer you to the

language of a judicial authority. Lord Deas delivered a recent judgment of marriage in Scotland, from the

bench, in these words: 'Consent makes marriage. No form or ceremony, civil or religious; no notice before, or

publication after; no cohabitation, no writing, no witnesses even, are essential to the constitution of this, the

most important contract which two persons can enter into.'There is a Scotch judge's own statement of the

law that he administers! Observe, at the same time, if you please, that we make full legal provision in

Scotland for contracts affecting the sale of houses and lands, horses and dogs. The only contract which we

leave without safeguards or precautions of any sort is the contract that unites a man and a woman for life. As

for the authority of parents, and the innocence of children, our law recognizes no claim on it either in the one

case or in the other. A girl of twelve and a boy of fourteen have nothing to do but to cross the Border, and to

be marriedwithout the interposition of the slightest delay or restraint, and without the slightest attempt to

inform their parents on the part of the Scotch law. As to the marriages of men and women, even the mere

interchange of consent which, as you have just heard, makes them man and wife, is not required to be directly

proved: it may be proved by inference. And, more even than that, whatever the law for its consistency may

presume, men and women are, in point of fact, held to be married in Scotland where consent has never been

interchanged, and where the parties do not even know that they are legally held to be married persons. Are

you sufficiently confused about the law of Irregular Marriages in Scotland by this time, Mr. Delamayn? And

have I said enough to justify the strong language I used when I undertook to describe it to you?"

"Who's that 'authority' you talked of just now?" inquired Geoffrey. "Couldn't I ask him?"

"You might find him flatly contradicted, if you did ask him by another authority equally learned and equally

eminent," answered Sir Patrick. "I am not jokingI am only stating facts. Have you heard of the Queen's

"Then listen to this. In March, 'sixtyfive, the Queen appointed a Commission to inquire into the

MarriageLaws of the United Kingdom. The Report of that Commission is published in London; and is

accessible to any body who chooses to pay the price of two or three shillings for it. One of the results of the

inquiry was, the discovery that high authorities were of entirely contrary opinions on one of the vital

questions of Scottish marriagelaw. And the Commissioners, in announcing that fact, add that the question of

which opinion is right is still disputed, and has never been made the subject of legal decision. Authorities are

every where at variance throughout the Report. A haze of doubt and uncertainty hangs in Scotland over the

most important contract of civilized life. If no other reason existed for reforming the Scotch marriagelaw,

there would be reason enough afforded by that one fact. An uncertain marriagelaw is a national calamity."

"You can tell me what you think yourself about my friend's casecan't you?" said Geoffrey, still holding

"Certainly. Now that I have given you due warning of the danger of implicitly relying on any individual

opinion, I may give my opinion with a clear conscience. I say that there has not been a positive marriage in

this case. There has been evidence in favor of possibly establishing a marriagenothing more."

The distinction here was far too fine to be appreciated by Geoffrey's mind. He frowned heavily, in

"Not married!" he exclaimed, "when they said they were man and wife, before witnesses?"

"That is a common popular error," said Sir Patrick. "As I have already told you, witnesses are not legally

necessary to make a marriage in Scotland. They are only valuableas in this caseto help, at some future

"The landlady and the waiter might make it out to be a marriage, then?" he said.

"Yes. And, remember, if you choose to apply to one of my professional colleagues, he might possibly tell you

they were married already. A state of the law which allows the interchange of matrimonial consent to be

proved by inference leaves a wide door open to conjecture. Your friend refers to a certain lady, in so many

words, as his wife. The lady refers to your friend, in so many words, as her husband. In the rooms which they

have taken, as man and wife, they remain, as man and wife, till the next morning. Your friend goes away,

without undeceiving any body. The lady stays at the inn, for some days after, in the character of his wife. And

all these circumstances take place in the presence o f competent witnesses. Logicallyif not legallythere

is apparently an inference of the interchange of matrimonial consent here. I stick to my own opinion,

While Sir Patrick had been speaking, Geoffrey had been considering with himself. By dint of hard thinking

"Look here!" he said, dropping his heavy hand down on the table." I want to bring you to book, Sir! Suppose

With those words he walked back, without ceremony, into the main thoroughfare of the room.

"I don't know who your friend is," thought Sir Patrick, looking after him. "But if your interest in the question

of his marriage is an honest and a harmless interest, I know no more of human nature than the babe unborn!"

Immediately on leaving Sir Patrick, Geoffrey was encountered by one of the servants in search of him.

"I beg your pardon, Sir," began the man. "The groom from the Honorable Mr. Delamayn's"

He led the way to the writingtable, and referred to Julius's letter again. He ran his eye carelessly over it,

until he reached the final lines: "Come tomorrow, and help us to receive Mrs. Glenarm." For a while he

paused, with his eye fixed on that sentence; and with the happiness of three peopleof Anne, who had loved

him; of Arnold, who had served him; of Blanche, guiltless of injuring himresting on the decision that

guided his movements for the next day. After what had passed that morning between Arnold and Blanche, if

he remained at Lady Lundie's, he had no alternative but to perform his promise to Anne. If he returned to his

brother's house, he had no alternative but to desert Anne, on the infamous pretext that she was Arnold's wife.

He suddenly tossed the letter away from him on the table, and snatched a sheet of notepaper out of the

writingcase. "Here goes for Mrs. Glenarm!" he said to himself; and wrote back to his brother, in one line:

"Dear Julius, Expect me tomorrow. G. D." The impassible manservant stood by while he wrote, looking at

his magnificent breadth of chest, and thinking what a glorious "stayingpower" was there for the last terrible

NOTE.There are certain readers who feel a disposition to doubt Facts, when they meet

with them in a work of fiction. Persons of this way of thinking may be profitably referred to the book which

first suggested to me the idea of writing the present Novel. The book is the Report of the Royal

Commissioners on The Laws of Marriage. Published by the Queen's Printers For her Majesty's Stationery

Office. (London, 1868.) What Sir Patrick says professionally of Scotch Marriages in this chapter is taken

from this high authority. What the lawyer (in the Prologue) says professionally of Irish Marriages is also

derived from the same source. It is needless to encumber these pages with quotations. But as a means of

satisfying my readers that they may depend on me, I subjoin an extract from my list of references to the

Report of the Marriage Commission, which any persons who may be so inclined can verify for themselves.

Irregular Marriages in Scotland.Statement of the law by Lord Deas. Report, page XVI.Marriages of

children of tender years. Examination of Mr. Muirhead by Lord Chelmsford (Question 689).Interchange of

consent, established by inference. Examination of Mr. Muirhead by the Lord Justice Clerk (Question

654)Marriage where consent has never been interchanged. Observations of Lord Deas. Report, page

XIX.Contradiction of opinions between authorities. Report, pages XIX., XX.Legal provision for the

sale of horses and dogs. No legal provision for the marriage of men and women. Mr. Seeton's Remarks.

Report, page XXX.Conclusion of the Commissioners. In spite of the arguments advanced before them in

favor of not interfering with Irregular Marriages in Scotland, the Commissioners declare their opinion that

In reference to the arguments (alluded to above) in favor of allowing the present disgraceful state of things to

continue, I find them resting mainly on these grounds: That Scotland doesn't like being interfered with by

England (!). That Irregular Marriages cost nothing (!!). That they are diminishing in number, and may

therefore be trusted, in course of time, to exhaust themselves (!!!). That they act, on certain occasions, in the

capacity of a moral trap to catch a profligate man (!!!!). Such is the elevated point of view from which the

Institution of Marriage is regarded by some of the most pious and learned men in Scotland. A legal enactment

providing for the sale of your wife, when you have done with her, or of your husband; when you "really can't

put up with him any longer," appears to be all that is wanting to render this North British estimate of the

"Estate of Matrimony" practically complete. It is only fair to add that, of the witnesses giving evidenceoral

and writtenbefore the Commissioners, fully onehalf regard the Irregular Marriages of Scotland from the

Christian and the civilized point of view, and entirely agree with the authoritative conclusion already

ARNOLD was a little surprised by the curt manner in which Geoffrey answered him.

"She won't ask you to go to Craig FernieI'll answer for that!" He said the words with a strong emphasis on

them, took his brother's letter from the table, snatched up his hat, and went out.

His friends, idling on the lawn, hailed him. He passed by them quickly without answering, without so much

as a glance at them over his shoulder. Arriving at the rosegarden, he stopped and took out his pipe; then

suddenly changed his mind, and turned back again by another path. There was no certainty, at that hour of the

day, of his being left alone in the rosegarden. He had a fierce and hungry longing to be by himself; he felt as

if he could have been the death of any body who came and spoke to him at that moment. With his head down

and his brows knit heavily, he followed the path to see what it ended in. It ended in a wicketgate which led

into a kitchengarden. Here he was well out of the way of interruption: there was nothing to attract visitors in

the kitchengarden. He went on to a walnuttree planted in the middle of the inclosure, with a wooden bench

and a broad strip of turf running round it. After first looking about him, he seated himself and lit his pipe.

He sat, with his elbows on his knees, smoking and thinking. Before long the restlessness that had got

possession of him forced him to his feet again. He rose, and paced round and round the strip of greensward

What was the meaning of this disturbance in the inner man? Now that he had committed himself to the

He was no more torn by remorse than you are while your eye is passing over this sentence. He was simply in

a raging fever of impatience to see himself safely la nded at the end which he had in view.

Why should he feel remorse? All remorse springs, more or less directly, from the action of two sentiments,

which are neither of them inbred in the natural man. The first of these sentiments is the product of the respect

which we learn to feel for ourselves. The second is the product of the respect which we learn to feel for

others. In their highest manifestations, these two feelings exalt themselves, until the first he comes the love of

God, and the second the love of Man. I have injured you, and I repent of it when it is done. Why should I

repent of it if I have gained something by it for my own self and if you can't make me feel it by injuring Me?

I repent of it because there has been a sense put into me which tells me that I have sinned against Myself, and

sinned against You. No such sense as that exists among the instincts of the natural man. And no such feelings

When the idea of his scheme had sprung to life in his mind, the novelty of it had startled himthe enormous

daring of it, suddenly selfrevealed, had daunted him. The signs of emotion which he had betrayed at the

writingtable in the library were the signs of mere mental perturbation, and of nothing more.

That first vivid impression past, the idea had made itself familiar to him. He had become composed enough to

see such difficulties as it involved, and such consequences as it implied. These had fretted him with a passing

trouble; for these he plainly discerned. As for the cruelty and the treachery of the thing he meditated

doingthat consideration never crossed the limits of his mental view. His position toward the man whose

life he had preserved was the position of a dog. The "noble animal" who has saved you or me from drowning

will fly at your throat or mine, under certain conditions, ten minutes afterward. Add to the dog's unreasoning

instinct the calculating cunning of a man; suppose yourself to be in a position to say of some trifling thing,

"Curious! at such and such a time I happened to pick up such and such an object; and now it turns out to be of

some use to me!"and there you have an index to the state of Geoffrey's feeling toward his friend when he

recalled the past or when he contemplated the future. When Arnold had spoken to him at the critical moment,

The same impenetrable insensibility, the same primitively natural condition of the moral being, prevented

him from being troubled by the slightest sense of pity for Anne. "She's out of my way!" was his first thought.

"She's provided for, without any trouble to Me! was his second. He was not in the least uneasy about her. Not

the slightest doubt crossed his mind that, when once she had realized her own situation, when once she saw

herself placed between the two alternatives of facing her own ruin or of claiming Arnold as a last resource,

she would claim Arnold. She would do it as a matter of course; because he would have done it in her place.

But he wanted it over. He was wild, as he paced round and round the walnuttree, to hurry on the crisis and

be done with it. Give me my freedom to go to the other woman, and to train for the footracethat's what I

want. They injured? Confusion to them both! It's I who am injured by them. They are the worst enemies I

How to be rid of them? There was the difficulty. He had made up his mind to be rid of them that day. How

There was no picking a quarrel with Arnold, and so beginning with him. This course of proceeding, in

Arnold's position toward Blanche, would lead to a scandal at the outseta scandal which would stand in the

way of his making the right impression on Mrs. Glenarm. The womanlonely and friendless, with her sex

and her position both against her if she tried to make a scandal of itthe woman was the one to begin with.

Settle it at once and forever with Anne; and leave Arnold to hear of it and deal with it, sooner or later, no

By going to the inn and openly addressing her to her face as Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth? No! He had had

enough, at Windygates, of meeting her face to face. The easy way was to write to her, and send the letter, by

the first messenger he could find, to the inn. She might appear afterward at Windygates; she might follow

him to his brother's; she might appeal to his father. It didn't matter; he had got the whiphand of her now.

"You are a married woman." There was the one sufficient answer, which was strong enough to back him in

He made out the letter in his own mind. "Something like this would do," he thought, as he went round and

round the walnuttree: "You may be surprised not to have seen me. You have only yourself to thank for it. I

know what took place between you and him at the inn. I have had a lawyer's advice. You are Arnold

Brinkworth's wife. I wish you joy, and goodby forever." Address those lines: "To Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth;"

instruct the messenger to leave the letter late that night, without waiting for an answer; start the first thing the

But even here there was an obstacleone last exasperating obstaclestill in the way.

If she was known at the inn by any name at all, it was by the name of Mrs. Silvester. A letter addressed to

"Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth" would probably not be taken in at the door; or if it was admitted. and if it was

actually offered to her, she might decline to receive it, as a letter not addressed to herself. A man of readier

mental resources would have seen that the name on the outside of the letter mattered little or nothing, so long

as the contents were read by the person to whom they were addressed. But Geoffrey's was the order of mind

which expresses disturbance by attaching importance to trifles. He attached an absurd importance to

preserving absolute consistency in his letter, outside and in. If he declared her to be Arnold Brinkworth's

wife, he must direct to her as Arnold Brinkworth's wife; or who could tell what the law might say, or what

scrape he might not get himself into by a mere scratch of the pen! The more he thought of it, the more

persuaded he felt of his own cleverness here, and the hotter and the angrier he grew.

There is a way out of every thing. And there was surely a way out of this, if he could only see it.

He failed to see it. After dealing with all the great difficulties, the small difficulty proved too much for him. It

struck him that he might have been thinking too long about itconsidering that he was not accustomed to

thinking long about any thing. Besides, his head was getting giddy, with going mechanically round and round

the tree. He irritably turned his back on the tree and struck into another path: resolved to think of something

Leaving his thoughts free to wander where they liked, his thoughts naturally busied themselves with the next

subject that was uppermost in his mind, the subject of the FootRace. In a week's time his arrangements

He decided on employing two trainers this time. One to travel to Scotland, and begin with him at his brother's

house. The other to take him up, with a fresh eye to him, on his return to London. He turned over in his mind

the performances of the formidable rival against whom he was to be matched. That other man was the

swiftest runner of the two. The betting in Geoffrey's favor was betting which calculated on the unparalleled

length of the race, and on Geoffrey's prodigious powers of endurance. How long he should "wait on" the

man? Whereabouts it would be safe to "pick the man up?" How near the end to calculate the man's exhaustion

to a nicety, and "put on the spurt," and pass him? These were nice points to decide. The deliberations of a

pedestrianprivycouncil would be required to help him under this heavy responsibility. What men coul d he

trust? He could trust A. and B.both of them authorities: both of them stanch. Query about C.? As an

authority, unexceptionable; as a man, doubtful. The problem relating to C. brought him to a standstilland

declined to be solved, even then. Never mind! he could always take the advice of A. and B. In the mean time

devote C. to the infernal regions; and, thus dismissing him, try and think of something else. What else? Mrs.

Glenarm? Oh, bother the women! one of them is the same as another. They all waddle when they run; and

they all fill their stomachs before dinner with sloppy tea. That's the only difference between women and

menthe rest is nothing but a weak imitation of Us. Devote the women to the infernal regions; and, so

dismissing them, try and think of something else. Of what? Of something worth thinking of, this timeof

He took out his tobaccopouch; and suddenly suspended operations at the moment of opening it.

What was the object he saw, on the other side of a row of dwarf peartrees, away to the right? A

womanevidently a servant by her dressstooping down with her back to him, gathering something: herbs

What was that thing hanging by a string at the woman's side? A slate? Yes. What the deuce did she want with

a slate at her side? He was in search of something to divert his mindand here it was found. "Any thing will

The woman raised herself, and advanced toward him slowlylooking at him, as she came on, with the

sunken eyes, the sorrowstricken face, the stony tranquillity of Hester Dethridge.

Geoffrey was staggered. He had not bargained for exchanging the dullest producible vulgarities of human

The woman wrote on her slate, and handed it to him over the peartrees. He read:"I am the cook."

Her eyes had rested on his face while he was questioning her; staring at him, cold, dull, and changeless as the

eyes of a corpse. Firm as his nerves weredense as he was, on all ordinary occasions, to any thing in the

shape of an imaginative impressionthe eyes of the dumb cook slowly penetrated him with a stealthy inner

chill. Something crept at the marrow of his back, and shuddered under the roots of his hair. He felt a sudden

impulse to get away from her. It was simple enough; he had only to say goodmorning, and go on. He did say

goodmorningbut he never moved. He put his hand into his pocket, and offered her some money, as a way

of making her go. She stretched out her hand across the peartrees to take itand stopped abruptly, with her

arm suspended in the air. A sinister change passed over the deathlike tranquillity of her face. Her closed lips

slowly dropped apart. Her dull eyes slowly dilated; looked away, sideways, from his eyes; stopped again; and

stared, rigid and glittering, over his shoulderstared as if they saw a sight of horror behind him. "What the

devil are you looking at?" he askedand turned round quickly, with a start. There was neither person nor

thing to be seen behind him. He turned back again to the woman. The woman had left him, under the

influence of some sudden panic. She was hurrying away from himrunning, old as she wasflying the

He found himself (hardly knowing how he had got there) under the walnuttree once more. In a few minutes

his hardy nerves had recovered themselveshe could laugh over the remembrance of the strange impression

that had been produced on him. "Frightened for the first time in my life," he thought"and that by an old

He looked at his watch. It was close on the luncheon hour up at the house; and he had not decided yet what to

The womanthe dumb woman, with the stony face and the horrid eyesreappeared in his thoughts, and got

in the way of his decision. Pooh! some crazed old servant, who might once have been cook; who was kept out

of charity now. Nothing more important than that. No more of her! no more of her!

He laid himself down on the grass, and gave his mind to the serious question. How to address Anne as "Mrs.

He closed his eyes impatiently, and tried to shut her out in a darkness of his own making.

The woman showed herself through the darkness. He saw her, as if he had just asked her a question, writing

on her slate. What she wrote he failed to make out. It was all over in an instant. He started up, with a feeling

of astonishment at himselfand, at the same moment his brain cleared with the suddenness of a flash of

light. He saw his way, without a conscious effort on his own part, through the difficulty that had troubled

him. Two envelopes, of course: an inner one, unsealed, and addressed to "Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth;" an outer

one, sealed, and addressed to "Mrs. Silvester:" and there was the problem solved! Surely the simplest

The dumb old woman reappeared in his thoughtsas if the answer to the question lay in something

He became alarmed about himself, for the first time in his life. Had this persistent impression, produced by

nothing but a crazy old woman, any thing to do with the broken health which the surgeon had talked about?

Was his head on the turn? Or had he smoked too much on an empty stomach, and gone too long (after

He left the garden to put that latter theory to the test forthwith. The betting would have gone dead against him

if the public had seen him at that moment. He looked haggard and anxiousand with good reason too. His

nervous system had suddenly forced itself on his notice, without the slightest previous introduction, and was

Returning to the purely ornamental part of the grounds, Geoffrey encountered one of the footmen giving a

message to one of the gardeners. He at once asked for the butleras the only safe authority to consult in the

Conducted to the butler's pantry, Geoffrey requested that functionary to produce a jug of his oldest ale, with

The butler stared. As a form of condescension among the upper classes this was quite new to him.

"The devil take your kickshaws!" said Geoffrey. "Give me my old ale, and my hunk of bread and cheese."

The butler issued the necessary orders with all needful alacrity. He spread the simple refreshment demanded,

before his distinguished guest, in a state of blank bewilderment. Here was a nobleman's son, and a public

celebrity into the bargain, filling himself with bread and cheese and ale, in at once the most voracious and the

most unpretending manner, at his table! The butler ventured on a little complimentary familiarity. He smiled,

and touched the bettingbook in his breastpocket. "I've put six pound on you, Sir, for the Race." "All right,

old boy! you shall win your money!" With those noble words the honorable gentleman clapped him on the

back, and held out his tumbler for some more ale. The butler felt trebly an Englishman as he filled the

foaming glass. Ah! foreign nations may have their revolutions! foreign aristocracies may tumble down! The

"Another!" said Geoffrey, presenting his empty glass. "Here's luck!" He tossed off his liquor at a draught, and

Had the experiment succeeded? Had he proved his own theory about himself to be right? Not a doubt of it!

An empty stomach, and a determination of tobacco to the headthese were the true causes of that strange

state of mind into which he had fallen in the kitchengarden. The dumb woman with the stony face vanished

as if in a mist. He felt nothing now but a comfortable buzzing in his head, a genial warmth all over him, and

an unlimited capacity for carrying any responsibility that could rest on mortal shoulders. Geoffrey was

He went round toward the library, to write his letter to Anneand so have done with that, to begin with. The

company had collected in the library waiting for the luncheonbell. All were idly talking; and some would be

certain, if he showed himself, to fasten on him. He turned back again, without showing himself. The only way

of writing in peace and quietness would be to wait until they were all at luncheon, and then return to the

library. The same opportunity would serve also for finding a messenger to take the letter, without exciting

attention, and for going away afterward, unseen, on a long walk by himself. An absence of two or three hours

would cast the necessary dust in Arnold's eyes; for it would be certainly interpreted by him as meaning

The talk in the libraryaimless and empty enough, for the most partwas talk to the purpose, in one corner

"Stop there, Blanche! A young lady who says she 'wants to know,' expresses very dangerous sentiments. Eve

'wanted to know'and see what it led to. Faust 'wanted to know'and got into bad company, as the

"You are feeling anxious about something," persisted Blanche. "And, what is more, Sir Patrick, you behaved

"When you went and hid yourself with Mr. Delamayn in that snug corner there. I saw you lead the way in,

"Oh! you call that being at work, do you? I wonder whether there was ever a woman yet who could give the

"Never mind the women! What subject in common could you and Mr. Delamayn possibly have to talk about?

And why do I see a wrinkle between your eyebrows, now you have done with him?a wrinkle which

Before answering, Sir Patrick considered whether he should take Blanche into his confidence or not. The

attempt to identify Geoffrey's unnamed "lady," which he was determined to make, would lead him to Craig

Fernie, and would no doubt end in obliging him to address himself to Anne. Blanche's intimate knowledge of

her friend might unquestionably be made useful to him under these circumstances; and Blanche's discretion

was to be trusted in any matter in which Miss Silvester's interests were concerned. On the other hand, caution

was imperatively necessary, in the present imperfect state of his informationand caution, in Sir Patrick's

mind, carried the day. He decided to wait and see what came first of his investigation at the inn.

"Mr. Delamayn consulted me on a dry point of law, in which a friend of his was interested," said Sir Patrick.

"You have wasted your curiosity, my dear, on a subject totally unworthy of a lady's notice."

Blanche's penetration was not to be deceived on such easy terms as these. "Why not say at once that you

won't tell me?" she rejoined. "You shutting yourself up with Mr. Delamayn to talk law! You looking absent

and anxious about it afterward! I am a very unhappy girl!" said Blanche, with a little, bitter sigh. "There is

something in me that seems to repel the people I love. Not a word in confidence can I get from Anne. And

not a word in confidence can I get from you. And I do so long to sympathize! It's very hard. I think I shall go

"Suppose somebody went to Craig Fernie and tried to find out the cause of Miss Silvester's silence? Would

Blanche's face flushed brightly with pleasure and surprise. She raised Sir Patrick's hand gratefully to her lips.

"I am certainly the last person who ought to do itseeing that you went to the inn in flat rebellion against my

orders, and that I only forgave you, on your own promise of amendment, the other day. It is a miserably weak

proceeding on the part of 'the head of the family' to be turning his back on his own principles, because his

niece happens to be anxious and unhappy. Still (if you could lend me your little carriage), I might take a surly

drive toward Craig Fernie, all by myself, and I might stumble against Miss Silvesterin case you have any

"Any thing to say?" repeated Blanche. She put her arm round her uncle's neck, and whispered in his ear one

of the most interminable messages that ever was sent from one human being to another. Sir Patrick listened,

with a growing interest in the inquiry on which he was secretly bent. "The woman must have some noble

While Blanche was whispering to her uncle, a second private conferenceof the purely domestic sortwas

taking place between Lady Lundie and the butler, in the hall outside the library door.

"She was all right, my lady, when she went into the kitchengarden, some time since. She's taken strange

again, now she has come back. Wants the rest of the day to herself, your ladyship. Says she's overworked,

with all the company in the houseand, I must say, does look like a person troubled and worn out in body

"Don't talk nonsense, Roberts! The woman is obstinate and idle and insolent. She is now in the house, as you

know, under a month's notice to leave. If she doesn't choose to do her duty for that month I shall refuse to

give her a character. Who is to cook the dinner today if I give Hester Dethridge leave to go out?"

"Any way, my lady, I am afraid the kitchenmaid will have to do her best today. Hester is very obstinate,

"If Hester Dethridge leaves the kitchenmaid to cook the dinner, Roberts, Hester Dethridge leaves my service

today. I want no more words about it. If she persists in setting my orders at defiance, let her bring her

accountbook into the library, while we are at lunch, and lay it out my desk. I shall be back in the library

after luncheonand if I see the accountbook I shall know what it means. In that case, you will receive my

The luncheonbell rang. The guests all took the direction of the dining room; Sir Patrick following, from

the far end of the library, with Blanche on his arm. Arrived at the diningroom door, Blanche stopped, and

Sir Patrick went in. The diningroom door closed; and Blanche returned alone to the library. Now on one

pretense, and now on another, she had, for three days past, faithfully fulfilled the engagement she had made

at Craig Fernie to wait ten minutes after luncheontime in the library, on the chance of seeing Anne. On this,

the fourth occasion, the faithful girl sat down alone in the great room, and waited with her eyes fixed on the

Five minutes passed, and nothing living appeared but the birds hopping about the grass.

In less than a minute more Blanche's quick ear caught the faint sound of a woman's dress brushing over the

lawn. She ran to the nearest window, looked out, and clapped her hands with a cry of delight. There was the

wellknown figure, rapidly approaching her! Anne was true to their friendshipAnne had kept her

Blanche hurried out, and drew her into the library in triumph. "This makes amends, love for every thing! You

She placed Anne in a chair, and, lifting her veil, saw her plainly in the brilliant midday light.

The change in the whole woman was nothing less than dreadful to the loving eyes that rested on her. She

looked years older than her real age. There was a dull calm in her face, a stagnant, stupefied submission to

any thing, pitiable to see. Three days and nights of solitude and grief, three days and nights of unresting and

unpartaken suspense, had crushed that sensitive nature, had frozen that warm heart. The animating spirit was

"Oh, Anne! Anne! What can have happened to you? Are you frightened? There's not the least fear of any

body disturbing us. They are all at luncheon, and the servants are at dinner. We have the room entirely to

ourselves. My darling! you look so faint and strange! Let me get you something."

Anne drew Blanche's head down and kissed her. It was done in a dull, slow waywithout a word, without a

"You're tiredI'm sure you're tired. Have you walked here? You sha'n't go back on foot; I'll take care of

Anne roused herself at those words. She spoke for the first time. The tone was lower than was natural to her;

sadder than was natural to herbut the charm of her voice, the native gentleness and beauty of it, seemed to

"I can't go back," she said. "The inn is no place for me. A curse seems to follow me, Blanche, wherever I go.

I am the cause of quarreling and wretchedness, without meaning it, God knows. The old man who is

headwaiter at the inn has been kind to me, my dear, in his way, and he and the landlady had hard words

together about it. A quarrel, a shocking, violent quarrel. He has lost his place in consequence. The woman,

his mistress, lays all the blame of it to my door. She is a hard woman; and she has been harder than ever since

Bishopriggs went away. I have missed a letter at the innI must have thrown it aside, I suppose, and

forgotten it. I only know that I remembered about it, and couldn't find it last night. I told the landlady, and she

fastened a quarrel on me almost before the words were out of my mouth. Asked me if I charged her with

stealing my letter. Said things to meI can't repeat them. I am not very well, and not able to deal with

people of that sort. I thought it best to leave Craig Fernie this morning. I hope and pray I shall never see Craig

She told her little story with a total absence of emotion of any sort, and laid her head back wearily on the

"I won't tease you with questions, Anne," she said, gently. "Come up stairs and rest in my room. You're not

The stableclock at Windygates struck the quarter to two. Anne raised herself in the chair with a start.

"I can't stay," she said. "I have come here to find something out if I can. You won't ask me questions? Don't,

Blanche turned aside, heartsick. "I will do nothing, dear, to annoy you," she said, and took Anne's hand, and

Blanche looked round at her again, in sudden astonishment and alarm. A vague fear seized her that Anne's

mind had given way under the heavy weight of trouble laid on it. Anne persisted in pressing her strange

"Run over their names, Blanche. I have a reason for wishing to know who the gentlemen are who are staying

Blanche repeated the names of Lady Lundie's guests, leaving to the last the guests who had arrived last.

"Two more came back this morning," she went on. "Arnold Brinkworth and that hateful friend of his, Mr.

Anne's head sank back once more on the chair. She had found her way without exciting suspicion of the truth,

to the one discovery which she had come to Windygates to make. He was in Scotland again, and he had only

arrived from London that morning. There was barely time for him to have communicated with Craig Fernie

before she left the innhe, too, who hated letterwriting! The circumstances were all in his favor: there was

no reason, there was really and truly no reason, so far, to believe that he had deserted her. The heart of the

unhappy woman bounded in her bosom, under the first ray of hope that had warmed it for four days past.

Under that sudden revulsion of feeling, her weakened frame shook from head to foot. Her face flushed deep

for a momentthen turned deadly pale again. Blanche, anxiously watching her, saw the serious necessity for

"I am going to get you some wineyou will faint, Anne, if you don't take something. I shall be back in a

She pushed Anne's chair close to the nearest open windowa window at the upper end of the libraryand

Blanche had barely left the room, by the door that led into the, hall, when Geoffrey entered it by one of the

With his mind absorbed in the letter that he was about to write, he slowly advanced up the room toward the

nearest table. Anne, hearing the sound of footsteps, started, and looked round. Her failing strength rallied in

an instant, under the sudden relief of seeing him again. She rose and advanced eagerly, with a faint tinge of

He looked at her without answeringwithout advancing a step, on his side. There was an evil light in his

eyes; his silence was the brute silence that threatens dumbly. He had made up his mind never to see her again,

and she had entrapped him into an interview. He had made up his mind to write, and there she stood forcing

him to speak. The sum of her offenses against him was now complete. If there had ever been the faintest hope

of her raising even a passing pity in his heart, that hope would have been annihilated now.

She failed to understand the full meaning of his silence. She made her excuses, poor soul, for venturing back

to Windygatesher excuses to the man whose purpose at that moment was to throw her helpless on the

"Pray forgive me for coming here," she said. "I have done nothing to compromise you, Geoffrey. Nobody but

Blanche knows I am at Windygates. And I have contrived to make my inquiri es about you without allowing

her to suspect our secret." She stopped, and began to tremble. She saw something more in his face than she

had read in it at first. "I got your letter," she went on, rallying her sinking courage. "I don't complain of its

being so short: you don't like letterwriting, I know. But you promised I should hear from you again. And I

She stopped again, and supported herself by resting her hand on the table. The faintness was stealing back on

"What do you want?" he asked, in the tone of a man who was putting an unimportant question to a total

"I am broken by what I have gone through," she said. "Don't insult me by making me remind you of your

She steadied herself against the table with one hand, and put the other hand to her head. Her brain was giddy.

The effort to think was too much for her. She said to herself, vacantly, "The inn? What did I do at the inn?"

She appeared not to have heard him. She repeated the words, "What did I do at the inn?" and gave it up in

despair. Holding by the table, she came close to him and laid her hand on his arm.

Without a cry to warn him, without an effort to save herself, she dropped senseless at his feet; as her mother

He disentangled himself from the folds of her dress. "Done!" he said, looking down at her as she lay on the

As the word fell from his lips he was startled by a sound in the inner part of the house. One of the library

doors had not been completely closed. Light footsteps were audible, advancing rapidly across the hall.

He turned and fled, leaving the library, as he had entered it, by the open window at the lower end of the room.

BLANCHE came in, with a glass of wine in her hand, and saw the swooning woman on the floor.

She was alarmed, but not surprised, as she knelt by Anne, and raised her head. Her own previous observation

of her friend necessarily prevented her from being at any loss to account for the fainting fit. The inevitable

delay in getting the wine wasnaturally to her mindalone to blame for the result which now met her view.

If she had been less ready in thus tracing the effect to the cause, she might have gone to the window to see if

any thing had happened, outofdoors, to frighten Annemight have seen Geoffrey before he had time to

turn the corner of the houseand, making that one discovery, might have altered the whole course of events,

not in her coming life only, but in the coming lives of others. So do we shape our own destinies, blindfold. So

do we hold our poor little tenure of happiness at the capricious mercy of Chance. It is surely a blessed

delusion which persuades us that we are the highest product of the great scheme of creation, and sets us

doubting whether other planets are inhabited, because other planets are not surrounded by an atmosphere

After trying such simple remedies as were within her reach, and trying them without success, Blanche

became seriously alarmed. Anne lay, to all outward appearance, dead in her arms. She was on the point of

calling for helpcome what might of the discovery which would ensuewhen the door from the hall

The cook had accepted the alternative which her mistress's message had placed before her, if she insisted on

having her own time at her own sole disposal for the rest of that day. Exactly as Lady Lundie had desired, she

intimated her resolution to carry her point by placing her accountbook on the desk in the library. It was only

when this had been done that Blanche received any answer to her entreaties for help. Slowly and deliberately

Hester Dethridge walked up to the spot where the young girl knelt with Anne's head on her bosom, and

"Don't you see what's happened?" cried Blanche. "Are you alive or dead? Oh, Hester, I can't bring her to!

Hester Dethridge looked at her, and shook her head. Looked again, thought for a while and wrote on her slate.

The eyes of Hester Dethridge steadily read the worn white face, telling its own tale of sorrow mutely on

Blanche's breast. The mind of Hester Dethridge steadily looked back at her own knowledge of her own

miserable married life. She again returned to writing on her slateagain showed the written words to

"You horrid unfeeling woman! how dare you write such an abominable thing!" With this natural outburst of

indignation, Blanche looked back at Anne; and, daunted by the deathlike persistency of the swoon, appealed

again to the mercy of the immovable woman who was looking down at her. "Oh, Hester! for Heaven's sake

The cook dropped her slate at her side. and bent her head gravely in sign that she submitted. She motioned to

Blanche to loosen Anne's dress, and thenkneeling on one kneetook Anne to support her while it was

The instant Hester Dethridge touched her, the swooning woman gave signs of life.

A faint shudder ran through her from head to foother eyelids trembledhalf opened for a momentand

Hester Dethridge put her back in Blanche's armsconsidered a little with herselfreturned to writing on her

Blanche turned from the sight of the slate, and from the sight of the woman, in horror. "You frighten me!" she

said. "You will frighten her if she sees you. I don't mean to offend you; butleave us, please leave us."

Hester Dethridge accepted her dismissal, as she accepted every thing else. She bowed her head in sign that

she understoodlooked for the last time at Annedropped a stiff courtesy to her young mistressand left

Blanche breathed more freely when she found herself alone. She could feel the relief now of seeing Anne

"Can you hear me, darling?" she whispered. "Can you let me leave you for a moment?"

Anne's eyes slowly opened and looked round herin that torment and terror of reviving life which marks the

awful protest of humanity against its recall to existence when mortal mercy has dared to wake it in the arms

Blanche rested Anne's head against the nearest chair, and ran to the table upon which she had placed the wine

After swallowing the first few drops Anne begun to feel the effect of the stimulant. Blanche persisted in

making her empty the glass, and refrained from asking or answering questions until her recovery under the

"You have overexerted yourself this morning," she said, as soon as it seemed safe to speak. "Nobody has seen

Anne made an attempt to rise and leave the library; Blanche placed her gently in the chair, and went on:

"There is not the least need to stir. We have another quarter of an hour to ourselves before any body is at all

likely to disturb us. I have something to say, Annea little proposal to make. Will you listen to me?"

Anne took Blanche's hand, and p ressed it gratefully to her lips. She made no other reply. Blanche proceeded:

"I won't ask any questions, my dearI won't attempt to keep you here against your willI won't even

remind you of my letter yesterday. But I can't let you go, Anne, without having my mind made easy about

you in some way. You will relieve all my anxiety, if you will do one thingone easy thing for my sake."

She put that question with her mind far away from the subject before her. Blanche was too eager in pursuit of

her object to notice the absent tone, the purely mechanical manner, in which Anne had spoken to her.

"I want you to consult my uncle," she answered. "Sir Patrick is interested in you; Sir Patrick proposed to me

this very day to go and see you at the inn. He is the wisest, the kindest, the dearest old man livingand you

can trust him as you could trust nobody else. Will you take my uncle into your confidence, and be guided by

With her mind still far away from the subject, Anne looked out absently at the lawn, and made no answer.

Still looking out on the lawnstill thinking of something elseAnne yielded, and said "Yes."

Blanche was enchanted. "How well I must have managed it!" she thought. "This is what my uncle means,

"That's the wisest 'Yes,' darling, you ever said in your life. Wait hereand I'll go in to luncheon, or they will

be sending to know what has become of me. Sir Patrick has kept my place for me, next to himself. I shall

contrive to tell him what I want; and he will contrive (oh, the blessing of having to do with a clever man;

these are so few of them!)he will contrive to leave the table before the rest, without exciting any body's

suspicions. Go away with him at once to the summerhouse (we have been at the summerhouse all the

morning; nobody will go back to it now), and I will follow you as soon as I have satisfied Lady Lundie by

eating some lunch. Nobody will be any the wiser but our three selves. In five minutes or less you may expect

"The day will be ages hence. Not till we are back in town, at the end of the autumn. Let me go, Anne!"

Blanche kissed her, and tried to release her hand. Anne held it as if she was drowning, as if her life depended

Blanche said it. Anne's eyes fastened on her face, with one long, yearning look, and then Anne's hand

She ran out of the room, more agitated, more uneasy, than she liked to confess to herself. Never had she felt

so certain of the urgent necessity of appealing to Sir Patrick's advice as she felt at that moment.

The guests were still safe at the luncheontable when Blanche entered the diningroom.

Lady Lundie expressed the necessary surprise, in the properly graduated tone of reproof, at her

stepdaughter's want of punctuality. Blanche made her apologies with the most exemplary humility. She

glided into her chair by her uncle's side, and took the first thing that was offered to her. Sir Patrick looked at

his niece, and found himself in the company of a model young English Missand marveled inwardly what it

The talk, interrupted for the moment (topics, Politics and Sportand then, when a change was wanted, Sport

and Politics), was resumed again all round the table. Under cover of the conversation, and in the intervals of

receiving the attentions of the gentlemen, Blanche whispered to Sir Patrick, "Don't start, uncle. Anne is in the

library." (Polite Mr. Smith offered some ham. Gratefully declined.) "Pray, pray, pray go to her; she is waiting

to see youshe is in dreadful trouble." (Gallant Mr. Jones proposed fruit tart and cream. Accepted with

thanks.) "Take her to the summerhouse: I'll follow you when I get the chance. And manage it at once, uncle,

Before Sir Patrick could whisper back a word in reply, Lady Lundie, cutting a cake of the richest Scottish

composition, at the other end of the table, publicly proclaimed it to be her "own cake," and, as such, offered

her brotherinlaw a slice. The slice exhibited an eruption of plums and sweetmeats, overlaid by a

perspiration of butter. It has been said that Sir Patrick had reached the age of seventyit is, therefore,

needless to add that he politely declined to commit an unprovoked outrage on his own stomach.

"MY cake!" persisted Lady Lundie, elevating the horrible composition on a fork. "Won't that tempt you?"

Sir Patrick saw his way to slipping out of the room under cover of a compliment to his sisterinlaw. He

"A fallible mortal," he said, "is met by a temptation which he can not possibly resist. If he is a wise mortal,

"No!" said Sir Patrick, with a look of unutterable devotion directed at his sisterinlaw.

"He flies temptation, dear ladyas I do now." He bowed, and escaped, unsuspected, from the room.

Lady Lundie cast down her eyes, with an expression of virtuous indulgence for human frailty, and divided Sir

Well aware that his own departure from the table would be followed in a few minutes by the rising of the lady

of the house, Sir Patrick hurried to the library as fast as his lame foot would let him. Now that he was alone,

Not a sign of Anne Silvester was to be seen any where. The library was a perfect solitude.

After a moment's reflection he went back into the hall to get his hat. It was possible that she might have been

afraid of discovery if she staid in the library, and that she might have gone on to the summerhouse by

If she was not to be found in the summerhouse, the quieting of Blanche's mind and the clearing up of her

uncle's suspicions alike depended on discovering the place in which Miss Silvester had taken refuge. In this

case time would be of importance, and the capacity of making the most of it would be a precious capacity at

starting. Arriving rapidly at these conclusions, Sir Patrick rang the bell in the hall which communicated with

the servants' offices, and summoned his own valeta person of tried discretion and fidelity, nearly as old as

"Get your hat, Duncan," he said, when the valet appeared, "and come out with me."

Master and servant set forth together silently on their way through the grounds. Arrived within sight of the

There was not the least need for the precaution that he had taken. The summerhouse was as empty as the

library. He stepped out again and looked about him. Not a living creature was visible. Sir Patrick summoned

"Go back to the stables, Duncan," he said, "and say that Miss Lundie lends me her ponycarriage today. Let

it be got ready at once and kept in the stableyard. I want to attract as little notice as possible. You are to go

with me, and nobody else. Provide yourself with a railway timetable. Have you got any money?"

"Did you happen to see the governess (Miss Silvester) on the day when we came herethe day of the

"I thought her a very distinguishedlooking person, Sir Patrick. I should certainly know her again."

"Very good. Put a change of linen into your bag, DuncanI may possibly want you to take a journey by

railway. Wait for me in the stableyard. This is a matter in which every thing is trusted to my discretion, and

With that acknowledgment of the compliment which had been just paid to him, Duncan gravely went his way

to the stables; and Duncan's master returned to the summerhouse, to wait there until he was joined by

Sir Patrick showed signs of failing patience during the interval of expectation through which he was now

condemned to pass. He applied perpetually to the snuffbox in the knob of his cane. He fidgeted incessantly

in and out of the summerhouse. Anne's disappearance had placed a serious obstacle in the way of further

discovery; and there was no attacking that obstacle, until precious time had been wasted in waiting to see

At last she appeared in view, from the steps of the summerhouse; breathless and eager, hasting to the place

Sir Patrick considerately advanced, to spare her the shock of making the inevitable discovery. "Blanche," he

Blanche pushed by him, and ran into the summerhouse. Sir Patrick followed her. She came out again to

meet him, with a look of blank despair. "Oh, uncle! I did so truly pity her! And see how little pity she has for

Sir Patrick put his arm round his niece, and softly patted the fair young head that dropped on his shoulder.

"Don't let us judge her harshly, my dear: we don't know what serious necessity may not plead her excuse. It is

plain that she can trust nobodyand that she only consented to see me to get you out of the room and spare

you the pain of parting. Compose yourself, Blanche. I don't despair of discovering where she has gone, if you

"My father himself wasn't kinder to me than you are," she said. "Only tell me, uncle, what I can do!"

"I want to hear exactly what happened in the library," said Sir Patrick. "Forget nothing, my dear child, no

matter how trifling it may be. Trifles are precious to us, and minutes are precious to us, now."

Blanche followed her instructions to the letter, her uncle listening with the closest attention. When she had

completed her narrative, Sir Patrick suggested leaving the summerhouse. "I have ordered your chaise," he

"Forgive me, my dear, for saying No to that. Your stepmother's suspicions are very easily excitedand you

had better not be seen with me if my inquiries take me to the Craig Fernie inn. I promise, if you will remain

here, to tell you every thing when I come back. Join the others in any plan they have for the afternoonand

you will prevent my absence from exciting any thing more than a passing remark. You will do as I tell you?

That's a good girl! Now you shall hear how I propose to search for this poor lady, and how your little story

He paused, considering with himself whether he should begin by telling Blanche of his consultation with

Geoffrey. Once more, he decided that question in the negative. Better to still defer taking her into his

confidence until he had performed the errand of investigation on which he was now setting forth.

"What you have told me, Blanche, divides itself, in my mind, into two heads," began Sir Patrick. "There is

what happened in the library before your own eyes; and there is what Miss Silvester told you had happened at

the inn. As to the event in the library (in the first place), it is too late now to inquire whether that faintingfit

was the result, as you say, of mere exhaustionor whether it was the result of something that occurred while

"I know no more than you do, my dear. It is simply one of the possibilities in the case, and, as such, I notice

it. To get on to what practically concerns us; if Miss Silvester is in delicate health it is impossible that she

could get, unassisted, to any great distance from Windygates. She may have taken refuge in one of the

cottages in our immediate neighborhood. Or she may have met with some passing vehicle from one of the

farms on its way to the station, and may have asked the person driving to give her a seat in it. Or she may

have walked as far as she can, and may have stopped to rest in some sheltered place, among the lanes to the

"My dear child, there must be a dozen cottages, at least, within a circle of one mile from Windygates! Your

inquiries would probably occupy you for the whole afternoon. I won't ask what Lady Lundie would think of

your being away all that time by yourself. I will only remind you of two things. You would be making a

public matter of an investigation which it is essential to pursue as privately as possible; and, even if you

happened to hit on the right cottage your inquiries would be completely baffled, and you would discover

"I know the Scottish peasant better than you do, Blanche. In his intelligence and his sense of selfrespect he

is a very different being from the English peasant. He would receive you civilly, because you are a young

lady; but he would let you see, at the same time, that he considered you had taken advantage of the difference

between your position and his position to commit an intrusion. And if Miss Silvester had appealed, in

confidence, to his hospitality, and if he had granted it, no power on earth would induce him to tell any person

"But, uncle, if it's of no use making inquiries of any body, how are we to find her?"

"I don't say that nobody will answer our inquiries, my dearI only say the peasantry won't answer them, if

your friend has trusted herself to their protection. The way to find her is to look on, beyond what Miss

Silvester may be doing at the present moment, to what Miss Silvester contemplates doinglet us say, before

the day is out. We may assume, I think (after what has happened), that, as soon as she can leave this

"Very well. She is a woman, and she is (to say the least of it) not strong. She can only leave this

neighborhood either by hiring a vehicle or by traveling on the railway. I propose going first to the station. At

the rate at which your pony gets over the ground, there is a fair chance, in spite of the time we have lost, of

my being there as soon as she isassuming that she leaves by the first train, up or down, that passes."

"There is a train in half an hour, uncle. She can never get there in time for that."

"She may be less exhausted than we think; or she may get a lift; or she may not be alone. How do we know

but somebody may have been waiting in the laneher husband, if there is such a personto help her? No! I

shall assume she is now on her way to the station; and I shall get there as fast as possible"

"What I do, Blanche, must be left to my discretion. If I find her there, I must act for the best. If I don't find

her there, I shall leave Duncan (who goes with me) on the watch for the remaining trains, until the last

tonight. He knows Miss Silvester by sight, and he is sure that she has never noticed him. Whether she goes

north or south, early or late, Duncan will have my orders to follow her. He is thoroughly to be relied on. If

"Not in the least, my dear. Duncan is my factotum; and the course I am taking is the obvious course which

would have occurred to any body. Let us get to the re ally difficult part of it now. Suppose she hires a

"There are farmers about here and farmers have light carts, or chaises, or something of the sort. It is in the

last degree unlikely that they would consent to let her have them. Still, women break through difficulties

which stop men. And this is a clever woman, Blanchea woman, you may depend on it, who is bent on

preventing you from tracing her. I confess I wish we had somebody we could trust lounging about where

those two roads branch off from the road that leads to the railway. I must go in another direction; I can't do

Sir Patrick looked a little doubtful. "Arnold is an excellent fellow," he said. "But can we trust to his

"He is, next to you, the most perfectly discreet person I know," rejoined Blanche, in a very positive manner;

"and, what is more, I have told him every thing about Anne, except what has happened today. I am afraid I

shall tell him that, when I feel lonely and miserable, after you have gone. There is something in ArnoldI

don't know what it isthat comforts me. Besides, do you think he would betray a secret that I gave him to

"My dear Blanche, I am not the cherished object of his devotion; of course I don't know! You are the only

authority on that point. I stand corrected. Let us have Arnold, by all means. Caution him to be careful; and

send him out by himself, where the roads meet. We have now only one other place left in which there is a

chance of finding a trace of her. I undertake to make the necessary investigation at the Craig Fernie inn."

"Wait a little, my dear. Miss Silvester herself has left the inn, I grant you. But (if we should unhappily fail in

finding her by any other means) Miss Silvester has left a trace to guide us at Craig Fernie. That trace must be

picked up at once, in case of accidents. You don't seem to follow me? I am getting over the ground as fast as

the pony gets over it. I have arrived at the second of those two heads into which your story divides itself in

"Exactly. She lost a letter at the inn; that is one event. And Bishopriggs, the waiter, has quarreled with Mrs.

Inchbare, and has left his situation; that is another event. As to the letter first. It is either really lost, or it has

been stolen. In either case, if we can lay our hands on it, there is at least a chance of its helping us to discover

"I am! Bishopriggs possesses two important merits. He is a link in my chain of reasoning; and he is an old

"We live in days, my dear, when one workman talks of another workman as 'that gentleman.'I march with

the age, and feel bound to mention my clerk as my friend. A few years since Bishopriggs was employed in

the clerks' room at my chambers. He is one of the most intelligent and most unscrupulous old vagabonds in

Scotland; perfectly honest as to all average matters involving pounds, shillings, and pence; perfectly

unprincipled in the pursuit of his own interests, where the violation of a trust lies on the boundaryline which

marks the limit of the law. I made two unpleasant discoveries when I had him in my employment. I found

that he had contrived to supply himself with a duplicate of my seal; and I had the strongest reason to suspect

him of tampering with some papers belonging to two of my clients. He had done no actual mischief, so far;

and I had no time to waste in making out the necessary case against him. He was dismissed from my service,

as a man who was not to be trusted to respect any letters or papers that happened to pass through his hands."

"Plain enough nowisn't it? If that missing letter of Miss Silvester's is a letter of no importance, I am

inclined to believe that it is merely lost, and may be found again. If, on the other hand, there is any thing in it

that could promise the most remote advantage to any person in possession of it, then, in the execrable slang of

"Unfortunate as causing delaynothing worse than that. Unless I am very much mistaken, Bishopriggs will

come back to the inn. The old rascal (there is no denying it) is a most amusing person. He left a terrible blank

when he left my clerks' room. Old customers at Craig Fernie (especially the English), in missing Bishopriggs,

will, you may rely on it, miss one of the attractions of the inn. Mrs. Inchbare is not a woman to let her dignity

stand in the way of her business. She and Bishopriggs will come together again, sooner or later, and make it

up. When I have put certain questions to her, which may possibly lead to very important results, I shall leave

a letter for Bishopriggs in Mrs. Inchbare's hands. The letter will tell him I have something for him to do, and

will contain an address at which he can write to me. I shall hear of him, Blanche and, if the letter is in his

"Very well put, my child. He might hesitate with other people. But I have my own way of dealing with him

and I know how to make him tell Me.Enough of Bishopriggs till his time comes. There is one other point,

in regard to Miss Silvester. I may have to describe her. How was she dressed when she came here?

Remember, I am a manand (if an Englishwoman's dress can be described in an Englishwoman's language)

"She wore a straw hat, with cornflowers in it, and a white veil. Cornflowers at one side uncle, which is less

common than cornflowers in front. And she had on a light gray shawl. And a Piqu�"

"There you go with your French! Not a word more! A straw hat, with a white veil, and with cornflowers at

one side of the hat. And a light gray shawl. That's as much as the ordinary male mind can take in; and that

will do. I have got my instructions, and saved precious time. So far so good. Here we are at the end of our

conferencein other words, at the gate of the stableyard. You understand what you have to do while I am

"I have to send Arnold to the crossroads. And I have to behave (if I can) as if nothing had happened."

"Good child! Well put again! you have got what I call grasp of mind, Blanche. An invaluable faculty! You

will govern the future domestic kingdom. Arnold will be nothing but a constitutional husband. Those are the

only husbands who are thoroughly happy. You shall hear every thing, my love, when I come lack. Got your

bag, Duncan? Good. And the timetable? Good. You take the reinsI won't drive. I want to think. Driving is

incompatible with intellectual exertion. A man puts his mind into his horse, and sinks to the level of that

useful animalas a necessary condition of getting to his destination without being upset. God bless you,

THE chaise rattled our through the gates. The dogs barked furiously. Sir Patrick looked round, and waved his

She lingered a little, absently patting the dogs. They had especial claims on her sympathy at that moment;

they, too, evidently thought it hard to be left behind at the house. After a while she roused herself. Sir Patrick

had left the responsibility of superintending the crossroads on her shoulders. There was something to be done

yet before the arrangements for tracing Anne were complete. Blanche left the yard to do it.

On her way back to the house she met Arnold, dispatched by Lady Lundie in search of her.

The plan of occupation for the afternoon had been settled during Blanche's absence. Some demon had whispe

red to Lady Lundie to cultivate a taste for feudal antiquities, and to insist on spreading that taste among her

guests. She had proposed an excursion to an old baronial castle among the hillsfar to the westward

(fortunately for Sir Patrick's chance of escaping discovery) of the hills at Craig Fernie. Some of the guests

were to ride, and some to accompany their hostess in the open carriage. Looking right and left for proselytes,

Lady Lundie had necessarily remarked the disappearance of certain members of her circle. Mr. Delamayn had

vanished, nobody knew where. Sir Patrick and Blanche had followed his example. Her ladyship had

observed, upon this, with some asperity, that if they were all to treat each other in that unceremonious

manner, the sooner Windygates was turned into a Penitentiary, on the silent system, the fitter the house would

be for the people who inhabited it. Under these circumstances, Arnold suggested that Blanche would do well

to make her excuses as soon as possible at headquarters, and accept the seat in the carriage which her

stepmother wished her to take. "We are in for the feudal antiquities, Blanche; and we must help each other

"There are serious reasons for my keeping up appearances," she said. "I shall go in the carriage. You mustn't

Arnold naturally looked a little surprised, and asked to be favored with an explanation.

Blanche took his arm and hugged it close. Now that Anne was lost, Arnold was more precious to her than

ever. She literally hungered to hear at that moment, from his own lips, how fond he was of her. It mattered

nothing that she was already perfectly satisfied on this point. It was so nice (after he had said it five hundred

"Suppose I had no explanation to give?" she said. "Would you stay behind by yourself to please me?"

They were still in the yard; and the only witnesses present were the dogs. Arnold answered in the language

without wordswhich is nevertheless the most expressive language in use, between men and women, all

"This is not doing my duty," said Blanche, penitently. "But, oh Arnold, I am so anxious and so miserable!

With that preface she told him what had happened in the library. Even Blanche's estimate of her lover's

capacity for sympathizing with her was more than realized by the effect which her narrative produced on

Arnold. He was not merely surprised and sorry for her. His face showed plainly that he felt genuine concern

and distress. He had never stood higher in Blanche's opinion than he stood at that moment.

Blanche repeated Sir Patrick's instructions relating to the crossroads, and also to the serious necessity of

pursuing the investigation in the strictest privacy. Arnold (relieved from all fear of being sent back to Craig

Fernie) undertook to do every thing that was asked of him, and promised to keep the secret from every body.

They went back to the house, and met with an icy welcome from Lady Lundie. Her ladyship repeated her

remark on the subject of turning Windygates into a Penitentiary for Blanche's benefit. She received Arnold's

petition to be excused from going to see the castle with the barest civility. "Oh, take your walk by all means!

You may meet your friend, Mr. Delamaynwho appears to have such a passion for walking that he can't

even wait till luncheon is over. As for Sir PatrickOh! Sir Patrick has borrowed the ponycarriage? and

gone out driving by himself?I'm sure I never meant to offend my brotherinlaw when I offered him a

slice of my poor little cake. Don't let me offend any body else. Dispose of your afternoon, Blanche, without

the slightest reference to me. Nobody seems inclined to visit the ruinsthe most interesting relic of feudal

times in Perthshire, Mr. Brinkworth. It doesn't matteroh, dear me, it doesn't matter! I can't force my guests

to feel an intelligent curiosity on the subject of Scottish Antiquities. No! no! my dear Blanche!it won't be

the first time, or the last, that I have driven out alone. I don't at all object to being alone. 'My mind to me a

kingdom is,' as the poet says." So Lady Lundie's outraged selfimportance asserted its violated claims on

human respect, until her distinguished medical guest came to the rescue and smoothed his hostess's ruffled

plumes. The surgeon (he privately detested ruins) begged to go. Blanche begged to go. Smith and Jones

(profoundly interested in feudal antiquities) said they would sit behind, in the "rumble"rather than miss

this unexpected treat. One, Two, and Three caught the infection, and volunteered to be the escort on

horseback. Lady Lundie's celebrated "smile" (warranted to remain unaltered on her face for hours together)

made its appearance once more. She issued her orders with the most charming amiability. "We'll take the

guidebook," said her ladyship, with the eye to mean economy, which is only to be met with in very rich

people, "and save a shilling to the man who shows the ruins." With that she went up stairs to array herself for

the drive, and looked in the glass; and saw a perfectly virtuous, fascinating, and accomplished woman, facing

At a private signal from Blanche, Arnold slipped out and repaired to his post, where the roads crossed the

There was a space of open heath on one side of him, and the stonewall and gates of a farmhouse inclosure on

the other. Arnold sat down on the soft heatherand lit a cigarand tried to see his way through the double

He had interpreted his friend's absence exactly as his friend had anticipated: he could only assume that

Geoffrey had gone to keep a private appointment with Anne. Miss Silvester's appearance at Windygates

alone, and Miss Silvester's anxiety to hear the names of the gentlemen who were staying in the house,

seemed, under these circumstances, to point to the plain conclusion that the two had, in some way,

unfortunately missed each other. But what could be the motive of her flight? Whether she knew of some other

place in which she might meet Geoffrey? or whether she had gone back to the inn? or whether she had acted

under some sudden impulse of despair?were questions which Arnold was necessarily quite incompetent to

solve. There was no choice but to wait until an opportunity offered of reporting what had happened to

After the lapse of half an hour, the sound of some approaching vehiclethe first sound of the sort that he had

heardattracted Arnold's attention. He started up, and saw the ponychaise approaching him along the road

from the station. Sir Patrick, this time, was compelled to drive himselfDuncan was not with him. On

"So! so!" said the old gentleman. "You have heard all about it, I see? You understand that this is to be a secret

from every body, till further notice? Very good, Has any thing happened since you have been here?"

"None. I got to the station before the train. No signs of Miss Silvester any where. I have left Duncan on the

"I don't think she will turn up at the station," said Arnold. "I fancy she has gone back to Craig Fernie."

"Quite possible. I am now on my way to Craig Fernie, to make inquiries about her. I don't know how long I

may be detained, or what it may lead to. If you see Blanche before I do tell her I have instructed the

stationmaster to let me know (if Miss Silvester does take the railway) what place she books for. Thanks to

that arrangement, we sha'n't have to wait for news till Duncan can telegraph that he has seen her to her

journey's end. In the mean time, you un derstand what you are wanted to do here?"

"Stick to your post, and make good use of your eyes. You were accustomed to that, you know, when you

were at sea. It's no great hardship to pass a few hours in this delicious summer air. I see you have contracted

the vile modern habit of smokingthat will be occupation enough to amuse you, no doubt! Keep the roads in

view; and, if she does come your way, don't attempt to stop heryou can't do that. Speak to her (quite

innocently, mind!), by way of getting time enough to notice the face of the man who is driving her, and the

name (if there is one) on his cart. Do that, and you will do enough. Pah! how that cigar poisons the air! What

"That reminds me! I met somebody I knew at the station. Hester Dethridge has left her place, and gone to

London by the train. We may feed at Windygateswe have done with dining now. It has been a final quarrel

this time between the mistress and the cook. I have given Hester my address in London, and told her to let me

know before she decides on another place. A woman who can't talk, and a woman who can cook, is simply a

woman who has arrived at absolute perfection. Such a treasure shall not go out of the family, if I can help it.

Did you notice the B�chamel sauce at lunch? Pooh! a young man who smokes cigars doesn't know the

difference between B�chamel sauce and melted butter. Good afternoon! good afternoon!"

He slackened the reins, and away he went to Craig Fernie. Counting by years, the pony was twenty, and the

pony's driver was seventy. Counting by vivacity and spirit, two of the most youthful characters in Scotland

An hour more wore itself slowly out; and nothing had passed Arnold on the crossroads but a few stray

footpassengers, a heavy wagon, and a gig with an old woman in it. He rose again from the heather, weary of

inaction, and resolved to walk backward and forward, within view of his post, for a change. At the second

turn, when his face happened to be set toward the open heath, he noticed another footpassengerapparently

He advanced a little. The stranger was doubtless advancing too, so rapidly did his figure now reveal itself,

beyond all doubt, as the figure of a man. A few minutes more and Arnold fancied he recognized it. Yet a little

longer, and he was quite sure. There was no mistaking the lithe strength and grace of that man, and the

smooth easy swiftness with which he covered his ground. It was the hero of the coming footrace. It was

Arnold hurried forward to meet him. Geoffrey stood still, poising himself on his stick, and let the other come

He instinctively checked the next question as it rose to his lips. There was a settled defiance in the expression

of Geoffrey's face, which Arnold was quite at a loss to understand. He looked like a man who had made up

his mind to confront any thing that could happen, and to contradict any body who spoke to him.

"What's up at the house?" returned Geoffrey, with his loudest voice and his hardest look.

"Well, she was miserably weak and ill, so ill that she fainted, poor thing, in the library. Blanche brought her

"We were all at lunch at the time. Blanche left the library, to speak privately to her uncle. When she went

Arnold remembered his promise to keep the investigation then on foot a secret from every body. Geoffrey's

manner made himunconsciously to himselfreadier than he might otherwise have been to consider

Geoffrey dug the point of his stick deep into the soft, sandy ground. He looked at the stick, then suddenly

pulled it out of the ground and looked at Arnold. "Goodafternoon!" he said, and went on his way again by

Arnold followed, and stopped him. For a moment the two men looked at each other without a word passing

"You're out of humor, Geoffrey. What has upset you in this way? Have you and Miss Silvester missed each

Still no reply. Still the same mutelyinsolent defiance of look and manner. Arnold's dark color began to

"Enough of being worried about Miss Silvester. Miss Silvester's my businessnot yours."

"Gently, Geoffrey! Don't forget that I have been mixed up in that businesswithout seeking it myself."

"Yes! Am I never to hear the last of my obligation to you? The devil take the obligation! I'm sick of the

There was a spirit in Arnoldnot easily brought to the surface, through the overlying simplicity and

goodhumor of his ordinary characterwhich, once roused, was a spirit not readily quelled. Geoffrey had

"When you come to your senses," he said, "I'll remember old timesand receive your apology. Till you

Geoffrey set his teeth, and came one step nearer. Arnold's eyes met his, with a look which steadily and firmly

challenged himthough he was the stronger man of the twoto force the quarrel a step further, if he dared.

The one human virtue which Geoffrey respected and understood was the virtue of courage. And there it was

before himthe undeniable courage of the weaker man. The callous scoundrel was touched on the one

Left by himself, Arnold's head dropped on his breast. The friend who had saved his lifethe one friend he

possessed, who was associated with his earliest and happiest remembrances of old dayshad grossly

insulted him: and had left him deliberately, without the slightest expression of regret. Arnold's affectionate

naturesimple, loyal, clinging where it once fastenedwas wounded to the quick. Geoffrey's

fastretreating figure, in the open view before him, became blurred and indistinct. He put his hand over his

eyes, and hid, with a boyish shame, the hot tears that told of the heartache, and that honored the man who

He was still struggling with the emotion which had overpowered him, when something happened at the place

The four roads pointed as nearly as might be toward the four points of the compass. Arnold was now on the

road to the eastward, having advanced in that direction to meet Geoffrey, between two and three hundred

yards from the farmhouse inclosure before which he had kept his watch. The road to the westward, curving

away behind the farm, led to the nearest markettown. The road to the south was the way to the station. And

While Geoffrey was still fifty yards from the turning which would take him back to Windygateswhile the

tears were still standing thickly in Arnold's eyesthe gate of the farm inclosure opened. A light fourwheel

chaise came out with a man driving, and a woman sitting by his side. The woman was Anne Silvester, and the

Instead of taking the way which led to the station, the chaise pursued the westward road to the markettown.

Proceeding in this direction, the backs of the persons in the vehicle were necessarily turned on Geoffrey,

advancing behind them from the eastward. He just carelessly noticed the shabby little chaise, and then turned

By the time Arnold was composed enough to look round him, the chaise had taken the curve in the road

which wound behind the farmhouse. He returnedfaithful to the engagement which he had undertakento

his post before the inclosure. The chaise was then a speck in the distance. In a minute more it was a speck out

So (to use Sir Patrick's phrase) had the woman broken through difficulties which would have stopped a man.

So, in her sore need, had Anne Silvester won the sympathy which had given her a place, by the farmer's side,

in the vehicle that took him on his own business to the markettown. And so, by a hair'sbreadth, did she

escape the treble risk of discovery which threatened herfrom Geoffrey, on his way back; from Arnold, at

The afternoon wore on. The servants at Windygates, airing themselves in the groundsin the absence of

their mistress and her guestswere disturbed, for the moment, by the unexpected return of one of "the

gentlefolks." Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn reappeared at the house alone; went straight to the smokingroom; and

calling for another supply of the old ale, settled himself in an armchair with the newspaper, and began to

He soon tired of reading, and fell into thinking of what had happened during the latter part of his walk.

The prospect before him had more than realized the most sanguine anticipations that he could have formed of

it. He had braced himselfafter what had happened in the libraryto face the outbreak of a serious scandal,

on his return to the house. And herewhen he came backwas nothing to face! Here were three people (Sir

Patrick, Arnold, and Blanche) who must at least know that Anne was in some serious trouble keeping the

secret as carefully as if they felt that his interests were at stake! And, more wonderful still, here was Anne

herselfso far from raising a hue and cry after himactually taking flight without saying a word that could

What in the name of wonder did it mean? He did his best to find his way to an explanation of some sort; and

he actually contrived to account for the silence of Blanche and her uncle, and Arnold. It was pretty clear that

they must have all three combined to keep Lady Lundie in ignorance of her runaway governess's return to the

He was simply incapable of conceiving that the horror of seeing herself set up as an obstacle to Blanche's

marriage might have been vivid enough to overpower all sense of her own wrongs, and to hurry her away,

resolute, in her ignorance of what else to do, never to return again, and never to let living eyes rest on her in

the character of Arnold's wife. "It's clean beyond my making out," was the final conclusion at which Geoffrey

arrived. "If it's her interest to hold her tongue, it's my interest to hold mine, and there's an end of it for the

He put up his feet on a chair, and rested his magnificent muscles after his walk, and filled another pipe, in

thorough contentment with himself. No interference to dread from Anne, no more awkward questions (on the

terms they were on now) to come from Arnold. He looked back at the quarrel on the heath with a certain

complacencyhe did his friend justice; though they had disagreed. "Who would have thought the fellow had

so much pluck in him!" he said to himself as he struck the match and lit his second pipe.

He was thoughtful, but in no sense depressed. Judging by appearances, his errand to Craig Fernie had

certainly not ended in disappointment. The old gentleman hummed his favorite little Scotch airrather

absently, perhapsand took his pinch of snuff from the knob of his ivory cane much as usual. He went to the

"Any body been here for me?""No, Sir Patrick.""No letters?""No, Sir Patrick.""Very well. Come

up stairs to my room, and help me on with my dressinggown." The man helped him to his dressinggown

and slippers "Is Miss Lundie at home?""No, Sir Patrick. They're all away with my lady on an

excursion.""Very good. Get me a cup of coffee; and wake me half an hour before dinner, in case I take a

nap." The servant went out. Sir Patrick stretched himself on the sofa. "Ay! ay! a little aching in the back, and

a certain stiffness in the legs. I dare say the pony feels just as I do. Age, I suppose, in both cases? Well! well!

well! let's try and be young at heart. 'The rest' (as Pope says) 'is leather and prunella.' " He returned resignedly

to his little Scotch air. The servant came in with the coffee. And then the room was quiet, except for the low

humming of insects and the gentle rustling of the creepers at the window. For five minutes or so Sir Patrick

sipped his coffee, and meditatedby no means in the character of a man who was depressed by any recent

With the one exception of their ladyleader, the whole expedition was depressedSmith and Jones, in

particular, being quite speechless. Lady Lundie alone still met feudal antiquities with a cheerful front. She

had cheated the man who showed the ruins of his shilling, and she was thoroughly well satisfied with herself.

Her voice was flutelike in its melody, and the celebrated "smile" had never been in better order. "Deeply

interesting!" said her ladyship, descending from the carriage with ponderous grace, and addressing herself to

Geoffrey, lounging under the portico of the house. "You have had a loss, Mr. Delamayn. The next time you

go out for a walk, give your hostess a word of warning, and you won't repent it." Blanche (looking very

weary and anxious) questioned the servant, the moment she got in, about Arnold and her uncle. Sir Patrick

was invisible up stairs. Mr. Brinkworth had not come back. It wanted only twenty minutes of dinnertime;

and full eveningdress was insisted on at Windygates. Blanche, nevertheless, still lingered in the hall in the

hope of seeing Arnold before she went up stairs. The hope was realized. As the clock struck the quarter he

"No," said Arnold, in the most perfect good faith. "The way she has escaped by is not the way by the

They separated to dress. When the party assembled again, in the library, before dinner, Blanche found her

"I have made some important discoveries at Craig Fernie, Blanche. Hush! here's your stepmother. Wait till

after dinner, and you may hear more than I can tell you now. There may be news from the station between

The dinner was a wearisome ordeal to at least two other persons present besides Blanche. Arnold, sitting

opposite to Geoffrey, without exchanging a word with him, felt the altered relations between his former

friend and himself very painfully. Sir Patrick, missing the skilled hand of Hester Dethridge in every dish that

was offered to him, marked the dinner among the wasted opportunities of his life, and resented his

sisterinlaw's flow of spirits as something simply inhuman under present circumstances. Blanche followed

Lady Lundie into the drawingroom in a state of burning impatience for the rising of the gentlemen from

their wine. Her stepmothermapping out a new antiquarian excursion for the next day, and finding

Blanche's ears closed to her occasional remarks on baronial Scotland five hundred years sincelamented,

with satirical emphasis, the absence of an intelligent companion of her own sex; and stretched her majestic

figure on the sofa to wait until an audience worthy of her flowed in from the diningroom. Before very

longso soothing is the influence of an afterdinner view of feudal antiquities, taken through the medium of

an approving conscienceLady Lundie's eyes closed; and from Lady Lundie's nose there poured, at

intervals, a sound, deep like her ladyship's learning; regular, like her ladyship's habitsa sound associated

with nightcaps and bedrooms, evoked alike by Nature, the leveler, from high and lowthe sound (oh, Truth

Free to do as she pleased, Blanche left the echoes of the drawingroom in undisturbed enjoyment of Lady

She went into the library, and turned over the novels. Went out again, and looked across the hall at the

diningroom door. Would the men never have done talking their politics and drinking their wine? She went

up to her own room, and changed her earrings, and scolded her maid. Descended once moreand made an

Two men were standing there, hat in hand whispering to the butler. The butler, leaving them, went into the

diningroomcame out again with Sir Patrickand said to the two men, "Step this way, please." The two

men came out into the light. Murdoch, the stationmaster; and Duncan, the valet! News of Anne!

Sir Patrick hesitated. It was impossible to sayas matters stood at that momentwhat distressing

intelligence the two men might not have brought of the missing woman. Duncan's return, accompanied by the

stationmaster, looked serious. Blanche instantly penetrated the secret of her uncle's hesitation. She turned

pale, and caught him by the arm. "Don't send me away," she whispered. "I can bear any thing but suspense."

"Out with it!" said Sir Patrick, holding his niece's hand. "Is she found or not?"

Sir Patrick breathed freely; Blanche's color came back. In different ways, the relief to both of them was

"You had my orders to follow her," said Sir Patrick to Duncan. "Why have you come back?"

"Your man is not to blame, Sir," interposed the stationmaster. "The lady took the train at Kirkandrew."

Sir Patrick started and looked at the stationmaster. "Ay? ay? The next stationthe markettown.

"I took the liberty of telegraphing your description of the lady to Kirkandrew, Sir Patrick, in case of

"I stand corrected, Mr. Murdoch. Your head, in this matter, has been the sharper head of the two. Well?"

"Kirkandrew. Up train. 7.40 P.M. Lady as described. No luggage. Bag in her hand. Traveling alone.

"Edinburgh!" repeated Blanche. "Oh, uncle! we shall lose her in a great place like that!"

"We shall find her, my dear; and you shall see how. Duncan, get me pen, ink, and paper. Mr. Murdoch, you

He wrote a carefullyworded telegraphic message, and addressed it to The Sheriff of MidLothian.

"The Sheriff is an old friend of mine," he explained to his niece. "And he is now in Edinburgh. Long before

the train gets to the terminus he will receive this personal description of Miss Silvester, with my request to

have all her movements carefully watched till further notice. The police are entirely at his disposal; and the

best men will be selected for the purpose. I have asked for an answer by telegraph. Keep a special messenger

ready for it at the station, Mr. Murdoch. Thank you; goodevening. Duncan, get your supper, and make

yourself comfortable. Blanche, my dear, go back to the drawingroom, and expect us in to tea immediately.

With those comforting words he returned to the gentlemen. In ten minutes more they all appeared in the

drawingroom; and Lady Lundie (firmly persuaded that she had never closed her eyes) was back again in

"Now for your promise," she said. "You have made some important discoveries at Craig Fernie. What are

Sir Patrick's eye turned toward Geoffrey, dozing in an armchair in a corner of the room. He showed a

"After the discovery we have already made," he said, "can't you wait, my dear, till we get the telegram from

"That is just what it's impossible for me to do! The telegram won't come for hours yet. I want something to go

She seated herself on a sofa in the corner opposite Geoffrey, and pointed to the vacant place by her side.

Sir Patrick had promisedSir Patrick had no choice but to keep his word. After another look at Geoffrey, he

"Well," said Sir Patrick, with a spark of his satirical humor flashing out at his niece, "I am going to do a very

rash thing. I am going to place a serious trust in the hands of a girl of eighteen."

"I must run the risk, my dear; your intimate knowledge of Miss Silvester may be of the greatest assistance to

me in the next step I take. You shall know all that I can tell you, but I must warn you first. I can only admit

you into my confidence by startling you with a great surprise. Do you follow me, so far?"

"If you fail to control yourself, you place an obstacle in the way of my being of some future use to Miss

Silvester. Remember that, and now prepare for the surprise. What did I tell you before dinner?"

"I have found out that there is a certain person who is in full possession of the information which Miss

Silvester has concealed from you and from me. The person is within our reach. The person is in this

He caught up Blanche's hand, resting on his arm, and pressed it significantly. She looked at him with the cry

of surprise suspended on her lipswaited a little with her eyes fixed on Fir Patrick's facestruggled

"Point the person out." She said the words with a selfpossession which won her uncle's hearty approval.

"I see Lady Lundie, at the other end of the room, with the map of Perthshire and the Baronial Antiquities of

Scotland on the table. And I see every body but you and me obliged to listen to her."

Blanche looked carefully round the room, and noticed Geoffrey in the opposite corner; fast asleep by this

Blanche held mechanically by her uncle's arm, and looked at the sleeping man as if her eyes could never see

"You saw me in the library in private consultation with Mr. Delamayn," resumed Sir Patrick. "I have to

acknowledge, my dear, that you were quite right in thinking this a suspicious circumstance, And I am now to

justify myself for having purposely kept you in the dark up to the present time."

With those introductory words, he briefly reverted to the earlier occurrences of the day, and then added, by

way of commentary, a statement of the conclusions which events had suggested to his own mind.

The events, it may be remembered, were three in number. First, Geoffrey's private conference with Sir

Patrick on the subject of Irregular Marriages in Scotla nd. Secondly, Anne Silvester's appearance at

The conclusions which had thereupon suggested themselves to Sir Patrick's mind were six in number.

First, that a connection of some sort might possibly exist between Geoffrey's acknowledged difficulty about

his friend, and Miss Silvester's presumed difficulty about herself. Secondly, that Geoffrey had really put to

Sir Patricknot his own casebut the case of a friend. Thirdly, that Geoffrey had some interest (of no

harmless kind) in establishing the fact of his friend's marriage. Fourthly, that Anne's anxiety (as described by

Blanche) to hear the names of the gentlemen who were staying at Windygates, pointed, in all probability, to

Geoffrey. Fifthly, that this last inference disturbed the second conclusion, and reopened the doubt whether

Geoffrey had not been stating his own case, after all, under pretense of stating the case of a friend. Sixthly,

that the one way of obtaining any enlightenment on this point, and on all the other points involved in

mystery, was to go to Craig Fernie, and consult Mrs. Inchbare's experience during the period of Anne's

residence at the inn. Sir Patrick's apology for keeping all this a secret from his niece followed. He had shrunk

from agitating her on the subject until he could be sure of proving his conclusions to be true. The proof had

been obtained; and he was now, therefore, ready to open his mind to Blanche without reserve.

"So much, my dear," proceeded Sir Patrick, "for those necessary explanations which are also the necessary

nuisances of human intercourse. You now know as much as I did when I arrived at Craig Fernieand you

are, therefore, in a position to appreciate the value of my discoveries at the inn. Do you understand every

"Very good. I drove up to the inn; andbehold me closeted with Mrs. Inchbare in her own private parlor!

(My reputation may or may not suffer, but Mrs. Inchbare's bones are above suspicion!) It was a long

business, Blanche. A more sourtempered, cunning, and distrustful witness I never examined in all my

experience at the Bar. She would have upset the temper of any mortal man but a lawyer. We have such

wonderful tempers in our profession; and we can be so aggravating when we like! In short, my dear, Mrs.

Inchbare was a shecat, and I was a hecatand I clawed the truth out of her at last. The result was well

worth arriving at, as you shall see. Mr. Delamayn had described to me certain remarkable circumstances as

taking place between a lady and a gentleman at an inn: the object of the parties being to pass themselves off

at the time as man and wife. Every one of those circumstances, Blanche, occurred at Craig Fernie, between a

lady and a gentleman, on the day when Miss Silvester disappeared from this house Andwait!being

pressed for her name, after the gentleman had left her behind him at the inn, the name the lady gave was,

"It's a startling discovery, my dear childthere is no denying that. Shall I wait a little, and let you recover

"No! no! Go on! The gentleman, uncle? The gentleman who was with Anne? Who is he? Not Mr.

"Not Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick. "If I have proved nothing else, I have proved that."

"What need was there to prove it? Mr. Delamayn went to London on the day of the lawnparty. And

"And Arnold went with him as far as the second station from this. Quite true! But how was I to know what

Mr. Delamayn might have done after Arnold had left him? I could only make sure that he had not gone back

"I asked her to describe the gentleman who was with Miss Silvester. Mrs. Inchbare's description (vague as

you will presently find it to be) completely exonerates that man," said Sir Patrick, pointing to Geoffrey still

asleep in his chair. "He is not the person who passed Miss Silvester off as his wife at Craig Fernie. He spoke

"Tell me exactly, uncle, what Mrs. Inchbare said. I have lived with Anne all my life. I must have seen the

"If you can identify him by Mrs. Inchbare's description," returned Sir Patrick, "you will be a great deal

cleverer than I am. Here is the picture of the man, as painted by the landlady: Young; middlesized; dark

hair, eyes, and complexion; nice temper, pleasant way of speaking. Leave out 'young,' and the rest is the exact

contrary of Mr. Delamayn. So far, Mrs. Inchbare guides us plainly enough. But how are we to apply her

description to the right person? There must be, at the lowest computation, five hundred thousand men in

England who are young, middlesized, dark, nicetempered, and pleasant spoken. One of the footmen here

"And Arnold answers it," said Blancheas a still stronger instance of the provoking vagueness of the

They had barely said those words when Arnold himself appeared, approaching Sir Patrick with a pack of

Thereat the very moment when they had both guessed the truth, without feeling the slightest suspicion of it

in their own mindsthere stood Discovery, presenting itself unconsciously to eyes incapable of seeing it, in

the person of the man who had passed Anne Silvester off as his wife at the Craig Fernie inn! The terrible

caprice of Chance, the merciless irony of Circumstance, could go no further than this. The three had their feet

on the brink of the precipice at that moment. And two of them were smiling at an odd coincidence; and one of

"We have done with the Antiquities at last!" said Arnold; "and we are going to play at Whist. Sir Patrick, will

"Too soon after dinner, my good fellow, for me. Play the first rubber, and then give me another chance.

Bytheway," he added "Miss Silvester has been traced to Kirkandrew. How is it that you never saw her go

Having justified himself in those terms, he was recalled to the other end of the room by the whistparty,

"It's useless to pursue that inquiry, my dear, with nothing better than Mrs. Inchbare's description to help us."

"And he knows!" she said. "It's maddening, uncle, to look at the brute snoring in his chair!"

Sir Patrick held up a warning hand. Before a word more could be said between them they were silenced again

The whistparty comprised Lady Lundie and the surgeon, playing as partners against Smith and Jones.

Arnold sat behind the surgeon, taking a lesson in the game. One, Two, and Three, thus left to their own

devices, naturally thought of the billiardtable; and, detecting Geoffrey asleep in his corner, advanced to

disturb his slumbers, under the allsufficing apology of "Pool." Geoffrey roused himself, and rubbed his

eyes, and said, drowsily, "All right." As he rose, he looked at the opposite corner in which Sir Patrick and his

niece were sitting. Blanche's selfpossession, resolutely as she struggled to preserve it, was not strong enough

to keep her eyes from turning toward Geoffrey with an expression which betrayed the reluctant interest that

she now felt in him. He stopped, noticing something entirely new in the look with which the young lady was

"Miss Lundie and I hope you have slept well Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick, jocosely. "That's all."

"Oh? That's all?" said Geoffrey still looking at Blanche. "Beg your pardon again. Deuced long walk, and

Sir Patrick eyed him closely. It was plain that he had been honestly puzzled at finding himself an object of

special attention on Blanche's part. "See you in the billiardroom?" he said, carelessly, and followed his

"Mind what you are about," said Sir Patrick to his niece. "That man is quicker than he looks. We commit a

"It sha'n't happen again, uncle," said Blanche. "But think of his being in Anne's confidence, and of my being

"In his friend's confidence, you mean, my dear; and (if we only avoid awakening his suspicion) there is no

knowing how soon he may say or do something which may show us who his friend is."

"So much the better. He will be out of the way of seeing strange things in a certain young lady's face. His

brother's house is within easy reach of this; and I am his legal adviser. My experience tells me that he has not

done consulting me yetand that he will let out something more next time. So much for our chance of

seeing the light through Mr. Delamaynif we can't see it in any other way. And that is not our only chance,

"No. I satisfied myself about thatI had it searched for, under my own eye. The letter is stolen, Blanche; and

Bishopriggs has got it. I have left a line for him, in Mrs. Inchbare's care. The old rascal is missed already by

the visitors at the inn, just as I told you he would be. His mistress is feeling the penalty of having been fool

enough to vent her ill temper on her headwaiter. She lays the whole blame of the quarrel on Miss Silvester,

of course. Bishopriggs neglected every body at the inn to wait on Miss Silvester. Bishopriggs was insolent on

being remonstrated with, and Miss Silvester encouraged himand so on. The result will benow Miss

Silvester has gonethat Bishopriggs will return to Craig Fernie before the autumn is over. We are sailing

"You haven't told me one thing yet," she said. "Whoever the man may be, is Anne married to him?"

"Whoever the man may be," returned Sir Patrick, "he had better not attempt to marry any body else."

So the niece unconsciously put the question, and so the uncle unconsciously gave the answer on which

depended the whole happiness of Blanche's life to come, The "man!" How lightly they both talked of the

"man!" Would nothing happen to rouse the faintest suspicionin their minds or in Arnold's mindthat

"Provoking, isn't it, my dear? I can tell you, professionally, that (in my opinion) she has grounds to go on if

she claims to be the man's wife. That is what I meant by my answer; and, until we know more, that is all I can

"By all means! But don't talk to him about what I have been telling you tonight. He and Mr. Delamayn are

old associates, remember; and he might blunder into telling his friend what his friend had better not know.

Sad (isn't it?) for me to be instilling these lessons of duplicity into the youthful mind. A wise person once

said, 'The older a man gets the worse he gets.' That wise person, my dear, had me in his eye, and was

He mitigated the pain of that confession with a pinch of snuff, and went to the whist table to wait until the

BLANCHE found her lover as attentive as usual to her slightest wish, but not in his customary good spirits.

He pleaded fatigue, after his long watch at the crossroads, as an excuse for his depression. As long as there

was any hope of a reconciliation with Geoffrey, he was unwilling to tell Blanche what had happened that

afternoon. The hope grew fainter and fainter as the evening advanced. Arnold purposely suggested a visit to

the billiardroom, and joined the game, with Blanche, to give Geoffrey an opportunity of saying the few

gracious words which would have made them friends again. Geoffrey never spoke the words; he obstinately

At the cardtable the whist went on interminably. Lady Lundie, Sir Patrick, and the surgeon, were all

inveterate players, evenly matched. Smith and Jones (joining the game alternately) were aids to whist, exactly

as they were aids to conversation. The same safe and modest mediocrity of style distinguished the

The time wore on to midnight. They went to bed late and they rose late at Windygates House. Under that

hospitable roof, no intrusive hints, in the shape of flat candlesticks exhibiting themselves with ostentatious

virtue on sidetables, hurried the guest to his room; no vile bell rang him ruthlessly out of bed the next

morning, and insisted on his breakfasting at a given hour. Life has surely hardships enough that are inevitable

without gratuitously adding the hardship of absolute government, administered by a clock?

It was a quarter past twelve when Lady Lundie rose blandly from the whisttable, and said that she supposed

somebody must set the example of going to bed. Sir Patrick and Smith, the surgeon and Jones, agreed on a

last rubber. Blanche vanished while her stepmother's eye was on her; and appeared again in the

drawingroom, when Lady Lundie was safe in the hands of her maid. Nobody followed the example of the

mistress of the house but Arnold. He left the billiardroom with the certainty that it was all over now between

Geoffrey and himself. Not even the attraction of Blanche proved strong enough to detain him that night. He

It was past one o'clock. The final rubber was at an end, the accounts were settled at the cardtable; the

surgeon had strolled into the billiardroom, and Smith and Jones had followed him, when Duncan came in, at

Blanche turned from the broad, calm autumn moonlight which had drawn her to the window, and looked over

She read the first lineand that was enough. The whole scaffolding of hope built round that morsel of paper

fell to the ground in an instant. The train from Kirkandrew had reached Edinburgh at the usual time. Every

passenger in it had passed under the eyes of the police, and nothing had been seen of any person who

Sir Patrick pointed to the two last sentences in the telegram: "Inquiries telegraphed to Falkirk. If with any

"We must hope for the best, Blanche. They evidently suspect her of having got out at the junction of the two

railways for the purpose of giving the telegraph the slip. There is no help for it. Go to bed, childgo to bed."

Blanche kissed her uncle in silence and went away. The bright young face was sad with the first hopeless

sorrow which the old man had yet seen in it. His niece's parting look dwelt painfully on his mind when he

"This is a bad business, Duncan. I don't like to say so to Miss Lundie; but I greatly fear the governess has

"It seems likely, Sir Patrick. The poor young lady looks quite heartbroken about it."

"You noticed that too, did you? She has lived all her life, you see, with Miss Silvester; and there is a very

strong attachment between them. I am uneasy about my niece, Duncan. I am afraid this disappointment will

"Yes, my friend, she's young; but the young (when they are good for any thing) have warm hearts. Winter

"I think there's reason to hope, Sir, that Miss Lundie may get over it more easily than you suppose."

"A person in my position can hardly venture to speak freely, Sir, on a delicate matter of this kind."

"Is that a snap at Me, you old dog? If I am not your friend, as well as your master, who is? Am I in the habit

of keeping any of my harmless fellowcreatures at a distance? I despise the cant of modern Liberalism; but

it's not the less true that I have, all my life, protested against the inhuman separation of classes in England.

We are, in that respect, brag as we may of our national virtue, the most unchristian people in the civilized

"God help me! I'm talking polities at this time of night! It's your fault, Duncan. What do you mean by casting

my station in my teeth, because I can't put my nightcap on comfortably till you have brushed my hair? I

have a good mind to get up and brush yours. There! there! I'm uneasy about my niecenervous irritability,

my good fellow, that's all. Let's hear what you have to say about Miss Lundie. And go on with my hair. And

"I was about to remind you, Sir Patrick, that Miss Lundie has another interest in her life to turn to. If this

matter of Miss Silvester ends badlyand I own it begins to look as if it wouldI should hurry my niece's

Sir Patrick started under the gentle discipline of the hairbrush in Duncan's hand.

"That's very sensibly put," said the old gentleman. "Duncan! you are, what I call, a clearminded man. Well

worth thinking of, old Truepenny! If the worst comes to the worst, well worth thinking of!"

It was not the first time that Duncan's steady good sense had struck light, under the form of a new thought, in

his master's mind. But never yet had he wrought such mischief as the mischief which he had innocently done

now. He had sent Sir Patrick to bed with the fatal idea of hastening the marriage of Arnold and Blanche.

The situation of affairs at Windygatesnow that Anne had apparently obliterated all trace of herselfwas

becoming serious. The one chance on which the discovery of Arnold's position depended, was the chance that

accident might reveal the truth in the lapse of time. In this posture of circumstances, Sir Patrick now

resolvedif nothing happened to relieve Blanche's anxiety in the course of the weekto advance the

celebration of the marriage from the end of the autumn (as originally contemplated) to the first fortnight of

the ensuing month. As dates then stood, the change led (so far as free scope for the development of accident

was concerned) to this serious result. It abridged a lapse of three months into an interval of three weeks.

The next morning came; and Blanche marked it as a memorable morning, by committing an act of

imprudence, which struck away one more of the chances of discovery that had existed, before the arrival of

She had passed a sleepless night; fevered in mind and body; thinking, hour after hour, of nothing but Anne.

At sunrise she could endure it no longer. Her power to control herself was completely exhausted; her own

impulses led her as they pleased. She got up, determined not to let Geoffrey leave the house without risking

an effort to make him reveal what he knew about Anne. It was nothing less than downright treason to Sir

Patrick to act on her own responsibility in this way. She knew it was wrong; she was heartily ashamed of

herself for doing it. But the demon that possesses women with a recklessness all their own, at the critical

Geoffrey had arranged overnight, to breakfast early, by himself, and to walk the ten miles to his brother's

He had got on his hat; he was standing in the hall, searching his pocket for his second self, the pipewhen

Blanche suddenly appeared from the morningroom, and placed herself between him and the house door.

She made no reply. He looked at her closer. The girl's eyes were trying to read his face, with an utter

carelessness of concealment, which forbade (even to his mind) all unworthy interpretation of her motive for

He smiled graciously, and opened his tobaccopouch. He was fresh and strong after his night's

sleephealthy and handsome and goodhumored. The housemaids had had a peep at him that morning,

and had wishedlike Desdemona, with a differencethat "Heaven had made all three of them such a man."

She put her question, without a single word of prefacepurposely to surprise him.

He was filling his pipe as she spoke, and he dropped some of the tobacco on the floor. Instead of answering

before he picked up the tobacco he answered afterin surly selfpossession, and in one word"No."

He put back his tobaccopouch in his pocket. His handsome face was as hard as stone. His clear blue eyes

defied all the girls in England put together to see into his mind. "Have you done, Miss Lundie?" he asked,

Blanche saw that it was hopelesssaw that she had compromised her own interests by her own headlong act.

Sir Patrick's warning words came back reproachfully to her now when it was too late. "We commit a serious

"My turn now," rejoined Geoffrey. "You want to know where Miss Silvester is. Why do you ask Me?"

Blanche did all that could be done toward repairing the error that she had committed. She kept Geoffrey as

"I happen to know," she replied "that Miss Silvester left the place at which she had been staying about the

time when you went out walking yesterday. And I thought you might have seen her."

The smile stung Blanche's sensitive temper to the quick. She made a final effort to control herself, before her

"I have no more to say, Mr. Delamayn." With that reply she turned her back on him, and closed the door of

Geoffrey descended the house steps and lit his pipe. He was not at the slightest loss, on this occasion, to

account for what had happened. He assumed at once that Arnold had taken a mean revenge on him after his

conduct of the day before, and had told the whole secret of his errand at Craig Fernie to Blanche. The thing

would get next, no doubt, to Sir Patrick's ears; and Sir Patrick would thereupon be probably the first person

who revealed to Arnold the position in which he had placed himself with Anne. All right! Sir Patrick would

be an excellent witness to appeal to, when the scandal broke out, and when the time came for repudiating

Anne's claim on him as the barefaced imposture of a woman who was married already to another man. He

puffed away unconcernedly at his pipe, and started, at his swinging, steady pace, for his brother's house.

Blanche remained alone in the morningroom. The prospect of getting at the truth, by means of what

Geoffrey might say on the next occasion when he co nsulted Sir Patrick, was a prospect that she herself had

closed from that moment. She sat down in despair by the window. It commanded a view of the little

sideterrace which had been Anne's favorite walk at Windygates. With weary eyes and aching heart the poor

child looked at the familiar place; and asked herself, with the bitter repentance that comes too late, if she had

She sat passively at the window, while the hours of the morning wore on, until the postman came. Before the

servant could take the letter bag she was in the hall to receive it. Was it possible to hope that the bag had

brought tidings of Anne? She sorted the letters; and lighted suddenly on a letter to herself. It bore the

"I have left you forever, Blanche. God bless and reward you! God make you a happy woman in all your life

to come! Cruel as you will think me, love, I have never been so truly your sister as I am now. I can only tell

you thisI can never tell you more. Forgive me, and forget me, our lives are parted lives from this day."

Going down to breakfast about his usual hour, Sir Patrick missed Blanche, whom he was accustomed to see

waiting for him at the table at that time. The room was empty; the other members of the household having all

finished their morning meal. Sir Patrick disliked breakfasting alone. He sent Duncan with a message, to be

The maid appeared in due time Miss Lundie was unable to leave her room. She sent a letter to her uncle, with

He waited a little, reflecting, with evident pain and anxiety, on what he had readthen opened his own

letters, and hurriedly looked at the signatures. There was nothing for him from his friend, the sheriff, at

Edinburgh, and no communication from the railway, in the shape of a telegram. He had decided, overnight,

on waiting till the end of the week before he interfered in the matter of Blanche's marriage. The events of the

morning determined him on not waiting another day. Duncan returned to the breakfastroom to pour out his

"My compliments to her ladyship. If she is not otherwise engaged, I shall be glad to speak to her privately in

SIR PATRICK made a bad breakfast. Blanche's absence fretted him, and Anne Silvester's letter puzzled him.

He read it, short as it was, a second time, and a third. If it meant any thing, it meant that the motive at the

bottom of Anne's flight was to accomplish the sacrifice of herself to the happiness of Blanche. She had parted

for life from his niece for his niece's sake! What did this mean? And how was it to be reconciled with Anne's

All Sir Patrick's ingenuity, and all Sir Patrick's experience, failed to find so much as the shadow of an answer

While he was still pondering over the letter, Arnold and the surgeon entered the breakfastroom together.

"Have you heard about Blanche?" asked Arnold, excitedly. "She is in no danger, Sir Patrickthe worst of it

"Mr. Brinkworth's interest in the young lady a little exaggerates the state of the case," he said. "I have seen

her, at Lady Lundie's request; and I can assure you that there is not the slightest reason for any present alarm.

Miss Lundie has had a nervous attack, which has yielded to the simplest domestic remedies. The only anxiety

you need feel is connected with the management of her in the future. She is suffering from some mental

distress, which it is not for me, but for her friends, to alleviate and remove. If you can turn her thoughts from

the painful subjectwhatever it may beon which they are dwelling now, you will do all that needs to be

done." He took up a newspaper from the table, and strolled out into the garden, leaving Sir Patrick and

"Right? Do you suppose a man gets his reputation by making mistakes? You're one of the new generation,

Master Arnold. You can all of you stare at a famous man; but you haven't an atom of respect for his fame. If

Shakspeare came to life again, and talked of playwriting, the first pretentious nobody who sat opposite at

dinner would differ with him as composedly as he might differ with you and me. Veneration is dead among

us; the present age has buried it, without a stone to mark the place. So much for that! Let's get back to

Blanche. I suppose you can guess what the painful subject is that's dwelling on her mind? Miss Silvester has

baffled me, and baffled the Edinburgh police. Blanche discovered that we had failed last night and Blanche

Arnold read it, and handed it back without a word. Viewed by the new light in which he saw Geoffrey's

character after the quarrel on the heath, the letter conveyed but one conclusion to his mind. Geoffrey had

He said no more than that. It was plain that no information which he could affordeven if he had considered

himself at liberty to give itwould be of the slightest use in assisting Sir Patrick to trace Miss Silvester,

under present circumstances, There wasunhappilyno temptation to induce him to break the honorable

silence which he had maintained thus far. Andmore unfortunately stillassuming the temptation to

present itself, Arnold's capacity to resist it had never been so strong a capacity as it was now.

To the two powerful motives which had hitherto tied his tonguerespect for Anne's reputation, and

reluctance to reveal to Blanche the deception which he had been compelled to practice on her at the innto

these two motives there was now added a third. The meanness of betraying the confidence which Geoffrey

had reposed in him would be doubled meanness if he proved false to his trust after Geoffrey had personally

insulted him. The paltry revenge which that false friend had unhesitatingly suspected him of taking was a

revenge of which Arnold's nature was simply incapable. Never had his lips been more effectually sealed than

at this momentwhen his whole future depended on Sir Patrick's discovering the part that he had played in

"Yes! yes!" resumed Sir Patrick, impatiently. "Blanche's distress is intelligible enough. But here is my niece

apparently answerable for this unhappy woman's disappearance. Can you explain what my niece has got to do

Answering in those terms, he spoke with perfect sincerity. Anne's vague distrust of the position in which they

had innocently placed themselves at the inn had produced no corresponding effect on Arnold at the time. He

had not regarded it; he had not even understood it. As a necessary result, not the faintest suspicion of the

Sir Patrick put the letter into his pocketbook, and abandoned all further attempt at interpreting the meaning

"Enough, and more than enough, of groping in the dark," he said. "One point is clear to me after what has

happened up stairs this morning. We must accept the position in which Miss Silvester has placed us. I shall

"I am not sure of any thing of the so rt, Master Arnold! There are two chances still left of throwing light on

this matter, which are both of them independent of any thing that Miss Silvester can do to keep it in the dark."

"Then why not try them, Sir? It seems hard to drop Miss Silvester when she is in trouble."

"We can't help her against her own will," rejoined Sir Patrick. "And we can't run the risk, after that nervous

attack this morning, of subjecting Blanche to any further suspense. I have thought of my niece's interests

throughout this business; and if I now change my mind, and decline to agitate her by more experiments,

ending (quite possibly) in more failures, it is because I am thinking of her interests still. I have no other

motive. However numerous my weaknesses may be, ambition to distinguish myself as a detective policeman

is not one of them. The case, from the police point of view, is by no means a lost case. I drop it, nevertheless,

for Blanche's sake. Instead of encouraging her thoughts to dwell on this melancholy business, we must apply

"Has she nothing to think of in the future, which is a pleasanter subject of reflection than the loss of her

friend?" he asked. "You are interested, my young gentleman, in the remedy that is to cure Blanche. You are

"Object! If Blanche will only consent, I'll take her to church as soon as she comes down stairs!"

"Thank you!" said Sir Patrick, dryly. "Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, may you always be as ready to take Time by

the forelock as you are now! Sit down again; and don't talk nonsense. It is just possibleif Blanche consents

(as you say), and if we can hurry the lawyersthat you may be married in three weeks' or a month's time."

"My good fellow, this is not a marriage in a novel! This is the most unromantic affair of the sort that ever

happened. Here are a young gentleman and a young lady, both rich people; both well matched in birth and

character; one of age, and the other marrying with the full consent and approval of her guardian. What is the

consequence of this purely prosaic state of things? Lawyers and settlements, of course!"

"Come into the library, Sir Patrick; and I'll soon settle the settlements! A bit of paper, and a dip of ink. 'I

hereby give every blessed farthing I have got in the world to my dear Blanche.' Sign that; stick a wafer on at

the side; clap your finger on the wafer; 'I deliver this as my act and deed;' and there it isdone!"

"Is it, really? You are a born legislator. You create and codify your own system all in a breath.

MosesJustinianMahomet, give me your arm! There is one atom of sense in what you have just said. 'Come

into the library'is a suggestion worth attending to. Do you happen, among your other superfluities, to have

"We will take the nearest of the two, because we are in a hurry. Who is the Edinburgh lawyer? Pringle of Pitt

Street? Couldn't be a better man. Come and write to him. You have given me your abstract of a marriage

settlement with the brevity of an ancient Roman. I scorn to be outdone by an amateur lawyer. Here is

my abstract: You are just and generous to Blanche; Blanche is just and generous to you; and you both

combine to be just and generous together to your children. There is a model settlement! and there are your

instructions to Pringle of Pitt Street! Can you do it by yourself? No; of course you can't. Now don't be

slovenlyminded! See the points in their order as they come. You are going to be married; you state to

whom, you add that I am the lady's guardian; you give the name and address of my lawyer in Edinburgh; you

write your instructions plainly in the fewest words, and leave details to your legal adviser; you refer the

lawyers to each other; you request that the draft settlements be prepared as speedily as possible, and you give

your address at this house. There are the heads. Can't you do it now? Oh, the rising generation! Oh, the

progress we are making in these enlightened modern times! There! there! you can marry Blanche, and make

her happy, and increase the populationand all without knowing how to write the English language. One

can only say with the learned Bevorskius, looking out of his window at the illimitable loves of the sparrows,

'How merciful is Heaven to its creatures!' Take up the pen. I'll dictate! I'll dictate!"

Sir Patrick read the letter over, approved of it, and saw it safe in the box for the post. This done, he

peremptorily forbade Arnold to speak to his niece on the subject of the marriage without his express

permission. "There's somebody else's consent to be got," he said, "besides Blanche's consent and mine."

"Lady Lundie. Strictly speaking, I am the only authority. But my sisterinlaw is Blanche's stepmother, and

she is appointed guardian in the event of my death. She has a right to be consultedin courtesy, if not in law.

"What! you can't even speak to such a perfectly pliable person as Lady Lundie? You may have been a very

useful fellow at sea. A more helpless young man I never met with on shore. Get out with you into the garden

among the other sparrows! Somebody must confront her ladyship. And if you won'tI must."

He pushed Arnold out of the library, and applied meditatively to the knob of his cane. His gayety

disappeared, now that he was alone. His experience of Lady Lundie's character told him that, in attempting to

win her approval to any scheme for hurrying Blanche's marriage, he was undertaking no easy task. "I

suppose," mused Sir Patrick, thinking of his late brother"I suppose poor Tom had some way of managing

her. How did he do it, I wonder? If she had been the wife of a bricklayer, she is the sort of woman who would

have been kept in perfect order by a vigorous and regular application of her husband's fist. But Tom wasn't a

bricklayer. I wonder how Tom did it?" After a little hard thinking on this point Sir Patrick gave up the

problem as beyond human solution. "It must be done," he concluded. "And my own motherwit must help

SIR PATRICK found his sisterinlaw immersed in domestic business. Her ladyship's correspondence and

visiting list, her ladyship's household bills and ledgers; her ladyship's Diary and Memorandumbook (bound

in scarlet morocco); her ladyship's desk, envelopecase, matchbox, and taper candlestick (all in ebony and

silver); her ladyship herself, presiding over her responsibilities, and wielding her materials, equal to any calls

of emergency, beautifully dressed in correct morning costume, blessed with perfect health both of the

secretions and the principles; absolutely void of vice, and formidably full of virtue, presented, to every

properlyconstituted mind, the most imposing spectacle known to humanitythe British Matron on her

"I am afraid I disturb you," said Sir Patrick. "I am a perfectly idle person. Shall I look in a little later?"

"A little pressure here, Sir Patrick. Pray sit down. Duty finds me earnest; Duty finds me cheerful; Duty finds

me accessible. From a poor, weak woman, Duty must expect no more. Now what is it?" (Her ladyship

consulted her scarlet memorandumbook.) "I have got it here, under its proper head, distinguished by initial

letters. P.the. poor. No. H.M.heathen missions. No. V.T.A.Visitors to arrive. No. P. I. P.Here it is:

private interview with Patrick. Will you forgive me the little harmless familiari ty of omitting your title?

Thank you! You are always so good. I am quite at your service when you like to begin. If it's any thing

With that intimation her ladyship threw herself back in her chair, with her elbows on the arms, and her fingers

joined at the tips, as if she was receiving a deputation. "Yes?" she said, interrogatively. Sir Patrick paid a

private tribute of pity to his late brother's memory, and entered on his business.

"We won't call it a painful matter," he began. "Let us say it's a matter of domestic anxiety. Blanche"

"Must you?" cried her ladyship, in a tone of touching remonstrance. "Oh, Sir Patrick, must you?"

Lady Lundie's magnificent eyes looked up at that hidden court of human appeal which is lodged in the

ceiling. The hidden court looked down at Lady Lundie, and sawDuty advertising itself in the largest capital

"Go on, Sir Patrick. The motto of woman is Selfsacrifice. You sha'n't see how you distress me. Go on."

Sir Patrick went on impenetrablywithout betraying the slightest expression of sympathy or surprise.

"I was about to refer to the nervous attack from which Blanche has suffered this morning," he said. "May I

ask whether you have been informed of the cause to which the attack is attributable?"

"There!" exclaimed Lady Lundie with a sudden bound in her chair, and a sudden development of vocal power

to correspond. "The one thing I shrank from speaking of! the cruel, cruel, cruel behavior I was prepared to

pass over! And Sir Patrick hints on it! Innocentlydon't let me do an injusticeinnocently hints on it!"

"Blanche's conduct to me this morning. Blanche's heartless secrecy. Blanche's undutiful silence. I repeat the

"Allow me, Sir Patrick! Heaven knows how unwilling I am to speak of it. Heaven knows that not a word of

reference to it escaped my lips. But you leave me no choice now. As mistress of the household, as a Christian

woman, as the widow of your dear brother, as a mother to this misguided girl, I must state the facts. I know

you mean well; I know you wish to spare me. Quite useless! I must state the facts."

Sir Patrick bowed, and submitted. (If he had only been a bricklayer! and if Lady Lundie had not been, what

"Permit me to draw a veil, for your sake," said Lady Lundie, "over the horrorsI can not, with the best wish

to spare you, conscientiously call them by any other namethe horrors that took place up stairs. The

moment I heard that Blanche was ill I was at my post. Duty will always find me ready, Sir Patrick, to my

dying day. Shocking as the whole thing was, I presided calmly over the screams and sobs of my

stepdaughter. I closed my ears to the profane violence of her language. I set the necessary example, as an

English gentlewoman at the head of her household. It was only when I distinctly heard the name of a person,

never to be mentioned again in my family circle, issue (if I may use the expression) from Blanche's lips that I

began to be really alarmed. I said to my maid: 'Hopkins, this is not Hysteria. This is a possession of the devil.

Chloroform, applied in the capacity of an exorcism, was entirely new to Sir Patrick. He preserved his gravity

"Hopkins is an excellent personbut Hopkins has a tongue. She met our distinguished medical guest in the

corridor, and told him. He was so good as to come to the door. I was shocked to trouble him to act in his

professional capacity while he was a visitor, an honored visitor, in my house. Besides, I considered it more a

case for a clergyman than for a medical man. However, there was no help for it after Hopkins's tongue. I

requested our eminent friend to favor us withI think the exact scientific term isa Prognosis. He took the

purely material view which was only to be expected from a person in his profession. He prognosedam I

right? Did he prognose? or did he diagnose? A habit of speaking correctly is so important, Sir Patrick! and I

"Never mind, Lady Lundie! I have heard the medical report. Don't trouble yourself to repeat it."

"Don't trouble myself to repeat it?" echoed Lady Lundiewith her dignity up in arms at the bare prospect of

finding her remarks abridged. "Ah, Sir Patrick! that little constitutional impatience of yours!Oh, dear me!

how often you must have given way to it, and how often you must have regretted it, in your time!"

"My dear lady! if you wish to repeat the report, why not say so, in plain words? Don't let me hurry you. Let

Lady Lundie shook her head compassionately, and smiled with angelic sadness. "Our little besetting sins!"

she said. "What slaves we are to our little besetting sins! Take a turn in the roomdo!"

Any ordinary man would have lost his temper. But the law (as Sir Patrick had told his niece) has a special

temper of its own. Without exhibiting the smallest irritation, Sir Patrick dextrously applied his sisterinlaw's

"What an eye you have!" he said. "I was impatient. I am impatient. I am dying to know what Blanche said to

"Nothing!" answered her ladyship, with a vicious snap of her teeth, as if she had tried to bite the word before

"Nothing," repeated Lady Lundie, with her most formidable emphasis of look and tone. "I applied all the

remedies with my own hands; I cut her laces with my own scissors, I completely wetted her head through

with cold water; I remained with her until she was quite exhausted I took her in my arms, and folded her to

my bosom; I sent every body out of the room; I said, 'Dear child, confide in me.' And how were my

advancesmy motherly advancesmet? I have already told you. By heartless secrecy. By undutiful

Sir Patrick pressed the blister a little closer to the skin. "She was probably afraid to speak," he said.

"Afraid? Oh!" cried Lady Lundie, distrusting the evidence of her own senses. "You can't have said that? I

"Stop! I can't be told to my face that I have failed to do my duty by Blanche. No, Sir Patrick! I can bear a

great deal; but I can't bear that. After having been more than a mother to your dear brother's child; after

having been an elder sister to Blanche; after having toiledI say toiled, Sir Patrick!to cultivate her

intelligence (with the sweet lines of the poet ever present to my memory: 'Delightful task to rear the tender

mind, and teach the young idea how to shoot!'); after having done all I have donea place in the carriage

only yesterday, and a visit to the most interesting relic of feudal times in Perthshireafter having sacrificed

all I have sacrificed, to be told that I have behaved in such a manner to Blanche as to frighten her when I ask

her to confide in me, is a little too cruel. I have a sensitivean unduly sensitive nature, dear Sir Patrick.

Forgive me for wincing when I am wounded. Forgive me for feeling it when the wound is dealt me by a

Her ladyship put her handkerchief to her eyes. Any other man would have taken off the blister. Sir Patrick

"You quite mistake me," he replied. "I meant that Blanche was afraid to tell you the true cause of her illness.

Lady Lundie emitted another screama loud scream this timeand closed her eyes in horror.

"I can run out of the house," cried her ladyship, wildly. "I can fly to the uttermost corners of the earth; but I

can not hear that person's name mentioned! No, Sir Patrick! not in my pre sence! not in my room! not while I

"I am sorry to say any thing that is disagreeable to you, Lady Lundie. But the nature of my errand here

obliges me to touchas lightly as possibleon something which has happened in your house without your

Lady Lundie suddenly opened her eyes, and became the picture of attention. A casual observer might have

supposed her ladyship to be not wholly inaccessible to the vulgar emotion of curiosity.

"A visitor came to Windygates yesterday, while we were all at lunch," proceeded Sir Patrick. "She"

Lady Lundie seized the scarlet memorandumbook, and stopped her brotherinlaw, before he could get any

further. Her ladyship's next words escaped her lips spasmodically, like words let at intervals out of a trap.

"I undertakeas a woman accustomed to selfrestraint, Sir PatrickI undertake to control myself, on one

condition. I won't have the name mentioned. I won't have the sex mentioned. Say, 'The Person,' if you please.

'The Person,' " continued Lady Lundie, opening her memorandumbook and taking up her pen, "committed

Sir Patrick bowed. Her ladyship made a notea fiercelypenned note that scratched the paper

viciouslyand then proceeded to examine her brotherinlaw, in the capacity of witness.

"What part of my house did 'The Person' invade? Be very careful, Sir Patrick! I propose to place myself under

the protection of a justice of the peace; and this is a memorandum of my statement. The librarydid I

"Add," said Sir Patrick, with another pressure on the blister, "that The Person had an interview with Blanche

Lady Lundie's pen suddenly stuck in the paper, and scattered a little shower of inkdrops all round it. "The

library," repeated her ladyship, in a voice suggestive of approaching suffocation. "I undertake to control

"Pray pardon meI forgot that 'she' was a prohibited pronoun on the present occasion. The Person has

written a farewell letter to Blanche, and has gone nobody knows where. The distress produced by these

events is alone answerable for what has happened to Blanche this morning. If you bear that in mindand if

you remember what your own opinion is of Miss Silvesteryou will understand why Blanche hesitated to

There he waited for a reply. Lady Lundie was too deeply absorbed in completing her memorandum to be

" 'Carriage to be at the door at twothirty,' " said Lady Lundie, repeating the final words of the memorandum

while she wrote them. " 'Inquire for the nearest justice of the peace, and place the privacy of Windygates

under the protection of the law.'I beg your pardon!" exclaimed her ladyship, becoming conscious again of

Sir Patrick's presence. "Have I missed any thing particularly painful? Pray mention it if I have!"

"You have missed nothing of the slightest importance," returned Sir Patrick. "I have placed you in possession

of facts which you had a right to know; and we have now only to return to our medical friend's report on

"Diagnosis!" said her ladyship, spitefully. "I had forgotten at the timeI remember now. Prognosis is

"You have informed me, Sir Patrick, that you were already acquainted with the Diagnosis. It is quite needless

"I was anxious to correct my own impression, my dear lady, by comparing it with yours."

"You are very good. You are a learned man. I am only a poor ignorant woman. Your impression can not

"My impression, Lady Lundie, was that our so friend recommended moral, rather than medical, treatment for

Blanche. If we can turn her thoughts from the painful subject on which they are now dwelling, we shall do all

that is needful. Those were his own words, as I remember them. Do you confirm me?"

"Can I presume to dispute with you, Sir Patrick? You are a master of refined irony, I know. I am afraid it's all

(The law kept its wonderful temper! The law met the most exasperating of living women with a

"I take that as confirming me, Lady Lundie. Thank you. Now, as to the method of carrying out our friend's

advice. The method seems plain. All we can do to divert Blanche's mind is to turn Blanche's attention to some

other subject of reflection less painful than the subject which occupies her now. Do you agree, so far?"

"Out of profound deference for your opinion," answered Sir Patrick. "Strictly speaking, no doubt, any serious

"I hear an outburst of devout thankfulness," remarked Sir Patrick. "Am I to take it as expressinglet me

saysome little doubt, on your part, as to the prospect of managing Blanche successfully, under present

Lady Lundie's temper began to give way againexactly as her brotherinlaw had anticipated.

"You are to take it," she said, "as expressing my conviction that I saddled myself with the charge of an

incorrigibly heartless, obstinate and perverse girl, when I undertook the care of Blanche."

"If the case is as hopeless as that, my dear Madamas Blanche's guardian, I ought to find means to relieve

"Nobody shall relieve me of a duty that I have once undertaken!" retorted Lady Lundie. "Not if I die at my

"Suppose it was consistent with your duty," pleaded Sir Patrick, "to be relieved at your post? Suppose it was

Sir Patrick assumed a new characterthe character of a hesitating man. He cast a look of respectful inquiry

"No!" he said. "It would be asking too much. Even with your high standard of duty, it would be asking too

"Sir Patrick! after what I have just said your perseverance in doubting me amounts to something like an

"Don't say that! Let me put a case. Let's suppose the future interests of another person depend on your saying,

Yeswhen all your own most cherished ideas and opinions urge you to say, No. Do you really mean to tell

me that you could trample your own convictions under foot, if it could be shown that the purely abstract

"Yes!" cried Lady Lundie, mounting the pedestal of her virtue on the spot. "Yeswithout a moment's

"I sit corrected, Lady Lundie. You embolden me to proceed. Allow me to ask (after what I just

heard)whether it is not your duty to act on advice given for Blanche's benefit, by one the highest medical

authorities in England?" Her ladyship admitted that it was her duty; pending a more favorable opportunity for

"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "Assuming that Blanche is like most other human beings, and has some

prospect of happiness to contemplate, if she could only be made to see itare we not bound to make her see

it, by our moral obligation to act on the medical advice?" He cast a courteouslypersuasive look at her

If Lady Lundie had not been bentthanks to the irritation fomented by her brotherinlawon disputing

the ground with him, inch by inch, she must have seen signs, by this time, of the snare that was being set for

her. As it was, she saw nothing but the opportunity of disparaging Blanche and contradicting Sir Patrick.

"If my stepdaughter had any such prospect as you describe," she answered, "I should of course say, Yes. But

Blanche's is an illregulated mind. An illregulated mind has no prospect of happiness."

"Pardon me," said Sir Patrick. "Blanche has a prospect of happiness. In other words, Blanche has a prospect

of being married. And what is more, Arnold Brinkworth is ready to marry her as soon as the settlements can

Lady Lundie started in her chairturned crimson with rageand opened her lips to speak. Sir Patrick rose

"I beg to relieve you, Lady Lundieby means which you have just acknowledged it to be your duty to

acceptof all further charge of an incorrigible girl. As Blanche's guardian, I have the honor of proposing

that her marriage be advanced to a day to be hereafter named in the first fortnight of the ensuing month."

In those words he closed the trap which he had set for his sisterinlaw, and waited to see what came of it.

A thoroughly spiteful woman, thoroughly roused, is capable of subordinating every other consideration to the

one imperative necessity of gratifying her spite. There was but one way now of turning the tables on Sir

Patrickand Lady Lundie took it. She hated him, at that moment, so intensely, that not even the assertion of

her own obstinate will promised her more than a tame satisfaction, by comparison with the priceless

"My dear Sir Patrick!" she said, with a little silvery laugh, "you have wasted much precious time and many

eloquent words in trying to entrap me into giving my consent, when you might have had it for the asking. I

think the idea of hastening Blanche's marriage an excellent one. I am charmed to transfer the charge of such a

person as my stepdaughter to the unfortunate young man who is willing to take her off my hands. The less

he sees of Blanche's character the more satisfied I shall feel of his performing his engagement to marry her.

Pray hurry the lawyers, Sir Patrick, and let it be a week sooner rather than a week later, if you wish to please

Her ladyship rose in her grandest proportions, and made a courtesy which was nothing less than a triumph of

polite satire in dumb show. Sir Patrick answered by a profound bow and a smile which said, eloquently, "I

So the one person in the family circle, whose opposition might have forced Sir Patrick to submit to a timely

delay, was silenced by adroit management of the vices of her own character. So, in despite of herself, Lady

Lundie was won over to the project for hurrying the marriage of Arnold and Blanche.

IT is the nature of Truth to struggle to the light. In more than one direction, the truth strove to pierce the

overlying darkness, and to reveal itself to view, during the interval between the date of Sir Patrick's victory

Signs of perturbation under the surface, suggestive of some hidden influence at work, were not wanting, as

the time passed on. The one thing missing was the prophetic faculty that could read those signs aright at

On the very day when Sir Patrick's dextrous treatment of his sisterinlaw had smoothed the way to the

hastening of the marriage, an obstacle was raised to the new arrangement by no less a person than Blanche

herself. She had sufficiently recovered, toward noon, to be able to receive Arnold in her own little

sittingroom. It proved to be a very brief interview. A quarter of an hour later, Arnold appeared before Sir

Patrickwhile the old gentleman was sunning himself in the gardenwith a face of blank despair. Blanche

had indignantly declined even to think of such a thing as her marriage, at a time when she was heartbroken

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

"If I had only known, I would rather have cut my tongue out than have said a word about it. What do you

It was a lovely morninga cool breeze tempered the heat of the sun; the birds were singing; the garden wore

its brightest look. Sir Patrick was supremely comfortable. The little wearisome vexations of this mortal life

had retired to a respectful distance from him. He positively declined to invite them to come any nearer.

"Here is a world," said the old gentleman, getting the sun a little more broadly on his back, "which a merciful

Creator has filled with lovely sights, harmonious sounds, delicious scents; and here are creatures with

faculties expressly made for enjoyment of those sights, sounds, and scentsto say nothing of Love, Dinner,

and Sleep, all thrown into the bargain. And these same creatures hate, starve, toss sleepless on their pillows,

see nothing pleasant, hear nothing pleasant, smell nothing pleasantcry bitter tears, say hard words, contract

painful illnesses; wither, sink, age, die! What does it mean, Arnold? And how much longer is it all to go on?"

The fine connecting link between the blindness of Blanche to the advantage of being married, and the

blindness of humanity to the advantage of being in existence, though sufficiently perceptible no doubt to

venerable Philosophy ripening in the sun, was absolutely invisible to Arnold. He deliberately dropped the

vast question opened by Sir Patrick; and, reverting to Blanche, asked what was to be done.

"What do you do with a fire, when you can't extinguish it?" said Sir Patrick. "You let it blaze till it goes out.

What do you do with a woman when you can't pacify her? Let her blaze till she goes out."

Arnold failed to see the wisdom embodied in that excellent advice. "I thought you would have helped me to

"I am helping you. Let Blanche alone. Don't speak of the marriage again, the next time you see her. If she

mentions it, beg her pardon, and tell her you won't press the question any more. I shall see her in an hour or

two, and I shall take exactly the same tone myself. You have put the idea into her mindleave it there to

ripen. Give her distress about Miss Silvester nothing to feed on. Don't stimulate it by contradiction; don't

rouse it to defend itself by disparagement of her lost friend. Leave Time to edge her gently nearer and nearer

to the husband who is waiting for herand take my word for it, Time will have her ready when the

Toward the luncheon hour Sir Patrick saw Blanche, and put in practice the principle which he had laid down.

She was perfectly tranquil before her uncle left her. A little later, Arnold was forgiven. A little later still, the

old gentleman's sharp observation noted that his niece was unusually thoughtful, and that she looked at

Arnold, from time to time, with an interest of a new kindan interest which shyly hid itself from Arnold's

view. Sir Patrick went up to dress for dinner, with a comfortable inner conviction that the difficulties which

had beset him were settled at last. Sir Patrick had never been more mistaken in his life.

The business of the toilet was far advanced. Duncan had just placed the glass in a good light; and Duncan's

master was at that turning point in his daily life which consisted in attaining, or not attaining, absolute

perfection in the tying of his white cravatwhen some outer barbarian, ignorant of the first principles of

dressing a gentleman's throat, presumed to knock at the bedroom door. Neither master nor servant moved or

breathed until the integrity of the cravat was placed beyond the reach of accident. Then Sir Patrick cast the

look of final criticism in the glass, and breathed again when he saw that it was done.

Duncan went to the door; and returned, to his master, with an excuse for the interruption, in the shape of a

Sir Patrick started at the sight of that unwelcome message. "Sign the receipt, Duncan," he saidand opened

the envelope. Yes! Exactly as he had anticipated! News of Miss Silvester, on the very day when he had

decided to abandon all further attempt at discovering her. The telegram ran thus:

"Message received from Falkirk this morning. Lady, as described, left the train at Falkirk last night. Went on,

"No. I must consider what I am to do. If I find it necessary I will send to the station. Here is news of Miss

Silvester, Duncan," continued Sir Patrick, when the messenger had gone. "She has been traced to Glasgow."

"Yes. Even if they have telegraphed on and had her watched (which doesn't appear), she may escape us again

at Glasgow. I am the last man in the world, I hope, to shrink from accepting my fair share of any

responsibility. But I own I would have given something to have kept this telegram out of the house. It raises

the most awkward question I have had to decide on for many a long day past. Help me on with my coat. I

Sir Patrick went down to dinner in no agreeable frame of mind. The unexpected recovery of the lost trace of

The dinnerparty that day, assembling punctually at the stroke of the bell, had to wait a quarter of an hour

Lady Lundie's apology, when she entered the library, informed her guests that she had been detained by some

neighbors who had called at an unusually late hour. Mr. and Mrs. Julius Delamayn, finding themselves near

Windygates, had favored her with a visit, on their way home, and had left cards of invitation for a

Lady Lundie was charmed with her new acquaintances. They had included every body who was staying at

Windygates in their invitation. They had been as pleasant and easy as old friends. Mrs. Delamayn had

brought the kindest message from one of her guestsMrs. Glenarmto say that she remembered meeting

Lady Lundie in London, in the time of the late Sir Thomas, and was anxious to improve the acquaintance.

Mr. Julius Delamayn had given a most amusing account of his brother. Geoffrey had sent to London for a

trainer; and the whole household was on the tiptoe of expectation to witness the magnificent spectacle of an

athlete preparing himself for a footrace. The ladies, with Mrs. Glenarm at their head, were hard at work,

studying the profound and complicated question of human runningthe muscles employed in it, the

preparation required for it, the heroes eminent in it. The men had been all occupied that morning in assisting

Geoffrey to measure a mile, for his exercisingground, in a remote part of the parkwhere there was an

empty cottage, which was to be fitted with all the necessary appliances for the reception of Geoffrey and his

trainer. "You will see the last of my brother," Julius had said, "at the gardenparty. After that he retires into

athletic privacy, and has but one interest in lifethe interest of watching the disappearance of his own

superfluous flesh." Throughout the dinner Lady Lundie was in oppressively good spirits, singing the praises

of her new friends. Sir Patrick, on the other hand, had never been so silent within the memory of mortal man.

He talked with an effort; and he listened with a greater effort still. To answer or not to answer the telegram in

his pocket? To persist or not to persist in his resolution to leave Miss Silvester to go her own way? Those

were the questions which insisted on coming round to him as regularly as the dishes themselves came round

Blanchewho had not felt equal to taking her place at the tableappeared in the drawingroom afterward.

Sir Patrick came in to tea, with the gentlemen, still uncertain as to the right course to take in the matter of the

telegram. One look at Blanche's sad face and Blanche's altered manner decided him. What would be the result

if he roused new hopes by resuming the effort to trace Miss Silvester, and if he lost the trace a second time?

He had only to look at his niece and to see. Could any consideration justify him in turning her mind back on

the memory of the friend who had left her at the moment when it was just beginning to look forward for relief

to the prospect of her marriage? Nothing could justify him; and nothing should induce him to do it.

Reasoningsoundly enough, from his own point of viewon that basis, Sir Patrick determined on sending

no further instructions to his friend at Edinburgh. That night he warned Duncan to preserve the strictest

silence as to the arrival of the telegram. He burned it, in case of accidents, with his own hand, in his own

Rising the next day and looking out of his window, Sir Patrick saw the two young people taking their

morning walk at a moment when they happened to cross the open grassy space which separated the two

shrubberies at Windygates. Arnold's arm was round Blanche's waist, and they were talking confidentially

with their heads close together. "She is coming round already!" thought the old gentleman, as the two

disappeared again in the second shrubbery from view. "Thank Heaven! things are running smoothly at last!"

Among the ornaments of Sir Patrick's bed room there was a view (taken from above) of one of the Highland

waterfalls. If he had looked at the picture when he turned away from his window, he might have remarked

that a river which is running with its utmost smoothness at one moment may be a river which plunges into its

most violent agitation at another; and he might have remembered, with certain misgivings, that the progress

of a stream of water has been long since likened, with the universal consent of humanity, to the progress of

ON the day when Sir Patrick received the second of the two telegrams sent to him from Edinburgh, four

respectable inhabitants of the City of Glasgow were startled by the appearance of an object of interest on the

The persons receiving this wholesome shock wereMr. and Mrs. Karnegie of the Sheep's Head Hotel and

Mr. Camp, and Mr. Crum, attached as "Writers" to the honorable profession of the Law.

It was still early in the day when a lady arrived, in a cab from the railway, at the Sheep's Head Hotel. Her

luggage consisted of a black box, and of a wellworn leather bag which she carried in her hand. The name on

the box (recently written on a new luggage label, as the color of the ink and paper showed) was a very good

name in its way, common to a very great number of ladies, both in Scotland and England. It was "Mrs.

Encountering the landlord at the entrance to the hotel, "Mrs. Graham" asked to be accommodated with a

bedroom, and was transferred in due course to the chambermaid on duty at the time. Returning to the little

room behind the bar, in which the accounts were kept, Mr. Karnegie surprised his wife by moving more

briskly, and looking much brighter than usual. Being questioned, Mr. Karnegie (who had cast the eye of a

landlord on the black box in the passage) announced that one "Mrs. Graham" had just arrived, and was then

and there to be booked as inhabiting Room Number Seventeen. Being informed (with considerable asperity

of tone and manner) that this answer failed to account for the interest which appeared to have been inspired in

him by a total stranger, Mr. Karnegie came to the point, and confessed that "Mrs. Graham" was one of the

sweetestlooking women he had seen for many a long day, and that he feared she was very seriously out of

Upon that reply the eyes of Mrs. Karnegie developed in size, and the color of Mrs. Karnegie deepened in tint.

She got up from her chair and said that it might be just as well if she personally superintended the installation

of "Mrs. Graham" in her room, and personally satisfied herself that "Mrs. Graham" was a fit inmate to be

received at the Sheep's Head Hotel. Mr. Karnegie thereupon did what he always didhe agreed with his

Mrs. Karnegie was absent for some little time. On her return her eyes had a certain tigerish cast in them when

they rested on Mr. Karnegie. She ordered tea and some light refreshment to be taken to Number Seventeen.

This donewithout any visible provocation to account for the remarkshe turned upon her husband, and

said, "Mr. Karnegie you are a fool." Mr. Karnegie asked, "Why, my dear?" Mrs. Karnegie snapped her

fingers, and said, "That for her good looks! You don't know a goodlooking woman when you see her." Mr.

Nothing more was said until the waiter appeared at the bar with his tray. Mrs. Karnegie, having first waived

the tray off, without instituting her customary investigation, sat down suddenly with a thump, and said to her

husband (who had not uttered a word in the interval), "Don't talk to Me about her being out of health!

That for her health! It's trouble on her mind." Mr. Karnegie said, "Is it now?" Mrs. Karnegie replied, "When I

have said, It is, I consider myself insulted if another person says, Is it?" Mr. Karnegie agreed with his wife.

There. was another interval. Mrs. Karnegie added up a bill, with a face of disgust. Mr. Karnegie looked at her

with a face of wonder. Mrs. Karnegie suddenly asked him why he wasted his looks on her, when he would

have "Mrs. Graham" to look at before long. Mr. Karnegie, upon that, attempted to compromise the matter by

looking, in the interim, at his own boots. Mrs. Karnegie wished to know whether after twenty years of

married life, she was considered to be not worth answering by her own husband. Treated with bare civility

(she expected no more), she might have gone on to explain that "Mrs. Graham" was going out. She might

also have been prevailed on to mention that "Mrs. Graham" had asked her a very remarkable question of a

business nature, at the interview between them up stairs. As it was, Mrs. Karnegie's lips were sealed, and let

Mr. Karnegie deny if he dared, that he richly deserved it. Mr. Karnegie agreed with his wife.

In half an hour more, "Mrs. Graham" came down stairs; and a cab was sent for. Mr. Karnegie, in fear of the

consequences if he did otherwise, kept in a corner. Mrs. Karnegie followed him into the corner, and asked

him how he dared act in that way? Did he presume to think, after twenty years of married life, that his wife

Mr. Karnegie obeyed. He asked, at the cab window, to what part of Glasgow he should tell the driver to go.

The reply informed him that the driver was to take "Mrs. Graham" to the office of Mr. Camp, the lawyer.

Assuming "Mrs. Graham" to be a stranger in Glasgow, and remembering that Mr. Camp was Mr. Karnegie's

lawyer, the inference appeared to be, that "Mrs. Graham's" remarkable question, addressed to the landlady,

had related to legal business, and to the discovery of a trustworthy person capable of transacting it for her.

Returning to the bar, Mr. Karnegie found his eldest daughter in charge of the books, the bills, and the waiters.

Mrs. Karnegie had retired to her own room, justly indignant with her husband for his infamous conduct in

handing "Mrs. Graham" into the cab before her own eyes. "It's the old story, Pa," remarked Miss Karnegie,

with the most perfect composure. "Ma told you to do it, of course; and then Ma says you've insulted her

before all the servants. I wonder how you bear it?" Mr. Karnegie looked at his boots, and answered, "I

wonder, too, my dear." Miss Karnegie said, "You're not going to Ma, are you?" Mr. Karnegie looked up from

Mr. Camp sat in his private room, absorbed over his papers. Multitudinous as those documents were, they

appeared to be not sufficiently numerous to satisfy Mr. Camp. He rang his bell, and ordered more.

The clerk appearing with a new pile of papers, appeared also with a message. A lady, recommended by Mrs.

Karnegie, of the Sheep's Head, wished to consult Mr. Camp professionally. Mr. Camp looked at his watch,

counting out precious time before him, in a little stand on the table, and said, "Show the lady in, in ten

In ten minutes the lady appeared. She took the client's chair and lifted her veil. The same effect which had

been produced on Mr. Karnegie was once more produced on Mr. Camp. For the first time, for many a long

year past, he felt personally interested in a total stranger. It might have been something in her eyes, or it

might have been something in her manner. Whatever it was, it took softly hold of him, and made him, to his

The lady announcedin a low sweet voice touched with a quiet sadnessthat her business related to a

question of marriage (as marriage is understood by Scottish law), and that her own peace of mind, and the

happiness of a person very dear to her, were concerned alike in the opinion which Mr. Camp might give when

She then proceeded to state the facts, without mentioning names: relating in every particular precisely the

same succession of events which Geoffrey Delamayn had already related to Sir Patrick Lundiewith this

one difference, that she acknowledged herself to be the woman who was personally concerned in knowing

Mr. Camp's opinion given upon this, after certain questions had been asked and answered, differed from Sir

Patrick's opinion, as given at Windygates. He too quoted the language used by the eminent judgeLord

Deasbut he drew an inference of his own from it. "In Scotland, consent makes marriage," he said; "and

consent may be proved by inference. I see a plain inference of matrimonial consent in the circumstances

The effect produced on the lady, when sentence was pronounced on her in those terms, was so distressing that

Mr. Camp sent a message up stairs to his wife; and Mrs. Camp appeared in her husband's private room, in

business hours, for the first time in her life. When Mrs. Camp's services had in some degree restored the lady

to herself, Mr. Camp followed with a word of professional comfort. He, like Sir Patrick, acknowledged the

scandalous divergence of opinions produced by the confusion and uncertainty of the marriagelaw of

Scotland. He, like Sir Patrick, declared it to be quite possible that another lawyer might arrive at another

conclusion. "Go," he said, giving her his card, with a line of writing on it, "to my colleague, Mr. Crum; and

The lady gratefully thanked Mr. Camp and his wife, and went next to the office of Mr. Crum.

Mr. Crum was the older lawyer of the two, and the harder lawyer of the two; but he, too, felt the influence

which the charm that there was in this woman exercised, more or less, over every man who came in contact

with her. He listened with a patience which was rare with him: he put his questions with a gentleness which

was rarer still; and when he was in possession of the circumstancesbehold, his opinion flatly contradicted

"No marriage, ma'am," he said, positively. "Evidence in favor of perhaps establishing a marriage, if you

propose to claim the man. But that, as I understand it, is exactly what you don't wish to do."

The relief to the lady, on hearing this, almost overpowered her. For some minutes she was unable to speak.

Mr. Crum did, what he had never done yet in all his experience as a lawyer. He patted a client on the

shoulder, and, more extraordinary still , he gave a client permission to waste his time. "Wait, and compose

yourself," said Mr. Crumadministering the law of humanity. The lady composed herself. "I must ask you

some questions, ma'am," said Mr. Crumadministering the law of the land. The lady bowed, and waited for

"I know, thus far, that you decline to claim the gentleman," said Mr. Cram. "I want to know now whether the

The answer to this was given in the most positive terms. The gentleman was not even aware of the position in

which he stood. And, more yet, he was engaged to be married to the dearest friend whom the lady had in the

Mr. Crum opened his eyesconsideredand put another question as delicately as he could. "Would it be

painful to you to tell me how the gentleman came to occupy the awkward position in which he stands now?"

The lady acknowledged that it would be indescribably painful to her to answer that question.

"Would it be painful to you to reveal the circumstancesin the interests of the gentleman's future

prospectsto some discreet person (a legal person would be best) who is not, what I am, a stranger to you

The lady declared herself willing to make any sacrifice, on those conditionsno matter how painful it might

"At the present stage of the affair," he said, "I need only tell you what is the first step that you ought to take

under the circumstances. Inform the gentleman at onceeither by word of mouth or by writingof the

position in which he stands: and authorize him to place the case in the hands of a person known to you both,

who is competent to decide on what you are to do next. Do I understand that you know of such a person so

The lady answered that she had made this inquiry herself on the last occasion when she had seen the

gentleman's betrothed wife. The marriage was to take place, on a day to be hereafter chosen, at the end of the

"That," said Mr. Crum, "is a fortunate circumstance. You have time before you. Time is, here, of very great

The lady said she would return to her hotel and write by that night's post, to warn the gentleman of the

position in which he stood, and to authorize him to refer the matter to a competent and trustworthy friend

On rising to leave the room she was seized with giddiness, and with some sudden pang of pain, which turned

her deadly pale and forced her to drop back into her chair. Mr. Crum had no wife; but he possessed a

housekeeperand he offered to send for her. The lady made a sign in the negative. She drank a little water,

and conquered the pain. "I am sorry to have alarmed you," she said. "It's nothingI am better now." Mr.

Crum gave her his arm, and put her into the cab. She looked so pale and faint that he proposed sending his

housekeeper with her. No: it was only five minutes' drive to the hotel. The lady thanked himand went her

"The letter!" she said, when she was alone. "If I can only live long enough to write the letter!"

MRS. KARNEGIE was a woman of feeble intelligence and violent temper; prompt to take offense, and not,

for the most part, easy to appease. But Mrs. Karnegie beingas we all are in our various degreesa

compound of many opposite qualities, possessed a character with more than one side to it, and had her human

merits as well as her human faults. Seeds of sound good feeling were scattered away in the remoter corners of

her nature, and only waited for the fertilizing occasion that was to help them to spring up. The occasion

exerted that benign influence when the cab brought Mr. Crum's client back to the hotel. The face of the

weary, heartsick woman, as she slowly crossed the hall, roused all that was heartiest and best in Mrs.

Karnegie's nature, and said to her, as if in words, "Jealous of this broken creature? Oh, wife and mother is

"I am afraid you have overtired yourself, ma'am. Let me send you something up stairs?"

"Send me pen, ink, and paper," was the answer. "I must write a letter. I must do it at once."

It was useless to remonstrate with her. She was ready to accept any thing proposed, provided the writing

materials were supplied first. Mrs. Karnegie sent them up, and then compounded a certain mixture of eggs

and hot wine. for which The Sheep's Head was famous, with her own hands. In five minutes or so it was

readyand Miss Karnegie was dispatched by her mother (who had other business on hand at the time) to

After the lapse of a few moments a cry of alarm was heard from the upper landing. Mrs. Karnegie recognized

The letter was on the table with the first lines written. The woman was on the sofa with her handkerchief

twisted between her set teeth, and her tortured face terrible to look at. Mrs. Karnegie raised her a little,

examined her closelythen suddenly changed color, and sent her daughter out of the room with directions to

Left alone with the sufferer, Mrs. Karnegie carried her to her bed. As she was laid down her left hand fell

helpless over the side of the bed. Mrs. Karnegie suddenly checked the word of sympathy as it rose to her

lipssuddenly lifted the hand, and looked, with a momentary sternness of scrutiny, at the third finger. There

was a ring on it. Mrs. Karnegie's face softened on the instant: the word of pity that had been suspended the

moment before passed her lips freely now. "Poor soul!" said the respectable landlady, taking appearances for

Time passed, and Mr. Karnegie and his daughter, carrying on the business of the hotel, received a message

from up stairs which was ominous of something out of the common. The message gave the name and address

of an experienced nursewith the doctor's compliments, and would Mr. Karnegie have the kindness to send

Time went on, and the business of the hotel went on, and it was getting to be late in the evening, when Mrs.

Karnegie appeared at last in the parlor behind the bar. The landlady's face was grave, the landlady's manner

was subdued. "Very, very ill," was the only reply she made to her daughter's inquiries. When she and her

husband were together, a little later, she told the news from up stairs in greater detail. "A child born dead,"

said Mrs. Karnegie, in gentler tones than were customary with her. "And the mother dying, poor thing, so far

A little later the doctor came down. Dead? No.Likely to live? Impossible to say. The doctor returned twice

in the course of the night. Both times he had but one answer. "Wait till tomorrow."

The next day came. She rallied a little. Toward the afternoon she began to speak. She expressed no surprise at

seeing strangers by her bedside: her mind wandered. She passed again into insensibility. Then back to

delirium once more. The doctor said, "This may last for weeks. Or it may end suddenly in death. It's time you

Mr. Camp was summoned to give his advice. The first thing he asked for was the unfinished letter.

It was blotted, it was illegible in more places than one. With pains and care they made out the address at the

beginning, and here and there some fragments of the lines that followed. It began: "Dear Mr. Brinkworth."

Then the writing got, little by little, worse and worse. To the eyes of the strangers who looked at it, it ran

thus: "I should ill re quite * * * Blanche's interests * * * For God's sake! * * * don't think of me * * *" There

was a little more, but not so much as one word, in those last lines, was legible

The names mentioned in the letter were reported by the doctor and the nurse to be also the names on her lips

when she spoke in her wanderings. "Mr. Brinkworth" and "Blanche"her mind ran incessantly on those two

persons. The one intelligible thing that she mentioned in connection with them was the letter. She was

perpetually trying, trying, trying to take that unfinished letter to the post; and she could never get there.

Sometimes the post was across the sea. Sometimes it was at the top of an inaccessible mountain. Sometimes

it was built in by prodigious walls all round it. Sometimes a man stopped her cruelly at the moment when she

was close at the post, and forced her back thousands of miles away from it. She once or twice mentioned this

Finding no clew to her identity either in the letter that she had tried to write or in the wild words that escaped

her from time to time, it was decided to search her luggage, and to look at the clothes which she had worn

Her black box sufficiently proclaimed itself as recently purchased. On opening it the address of a Glasgow

trunkmaker was discovered inside. The linen was also new, and unmarked. The receipted shopbill was

found with it. The tradesmen, sent for in each case and questioned, referred to their books. It was proved that

the box and the linen had both been purchased on the day when she appeared at the hotel.

Her black bag was opened next. A sum of between eighty and ninety pounds in Bank of England notes; a few

simple articles belonging to the toilet; materials for needlework; and a photographic portrait of a young

lady, inscribed, "To Anne, from Blanche," were found in the bagbut no letters, and nothing whatever that

could afford the slightest clew by which the owner could be traced. The pocket in her dress was searched

"A woman's luggage without any letters in it," he said, "suggests to my mind a woman who has a motive of

her own for keeping her movements a secret. I suspect she has destroyed her letters, and emptied her

cardcase, with that view." Mrs. Karnegie's report, after examining the linen which the socalled "Mrs.

Graham" had worn when she arrived at the inn, proved the soundness of the lawyer's opinion. In every case

the marks had been cut out. Mrs. Karnegie began to doubt whether the ring which she had seen on the third

finger of the lady's left hand had been placed there with the sanction of the law.

There was but one chance left of discoveringor rather of attempting to discoverher friends. Mr. Camp

drew out an advertisement to be inserted in the Glasgow newspapers. If those newspapers happened to be

seen by any member of her family, she would, in all probability, be claimed. In the contrary event there

would be nothing for it but to wait for her recovery or her deathwith the money belonging to her sealed up,

The advertisement appeared. They waited for three days afterward, and nothing came of it. No change of

importance occurred, during the same period, in the condition of the suffering woman. Mr. Camp looked in,

toward evening, and said, "We have done our best. There is no help for it but to wait."

Far away in Perthshire that third evening was marked as a joyful occasion at Windygates House. Blanche had

consented at last to listen to Arnold's entreaties, and had sanctioned the writing of a letter to London to order

Such was the judgment pronounced by the two choral gentlemen on Julius Delamayn's house in Scotland. It

was, as usual with Smith and Jones, a sound judgmentas far as it went. Swanhaven Lodge was not half the

size of Windygates; but it had been inhabited for two centuries when the foundations of Windygates were

first laidand it possessed the advantages, without inheriting the drawbacks, of its age. There is in an old

house a friendly adaptation to the human character, as there is in an old hat a friendly adaptation to the human

head. The visitor who left Swanhaven quitted it with something like a sense of leaving home. Among the few

houses not our own which take a strong hold on our sympathies this was one. The ornamental grounds were

far inferior in size and splendor to the grounds at Windygates. But the park was beautifulless carefully laid

out, but also less monotonous than an English park. The lake on the northern boundary of the estate, famous

for its breed of swans, was one of the curiosities of the neighborhood; and the house had a history, associating

it with more than one celebrated Scottish name, which had been written and illustrated by Julius Delamayn.

Visitors to Swanhaven Lodge were invariably presented with a copy of the volume (privately printed). One in

The day was the last day of August, and the occasion was the gardenparty given by Mr. and Mrs. Delamayn.

Smith and Jonesfollowing, with the other guests at Windygates, in Lady Lundie's trainexchanged their

opinions on the merits of the house, standing on a terrace at the back, near a flight of steps which led down

into the garden. They formed the vanguard of the visitors, appearing by twos and threes from the reception

rooms, and all bent on going to see the swans before the amusements of the day began. Julius Delamayn

came out with the first detachment, recruited Smith and Jones, and other wandering bachelors, by the way,

and set forth for the lake. An interval of a minute or two passedand the terrace remained empty. Then two

ladiesat the head of a second detachment of visitorsappeared under the old stone porch which sheltered

the entrance on that side of the house. One of the ladies was a modest, pleasant little person, very simply

dressed. The other was of the tall and formidable type of "fine women," clad in dazzling array. The first was

"Exquisite!" cried her ladyship, surveying the old mullioned windows of the house, with their framing of

creepers, and the grand stone buttresses projecting at intervals from the wall, each with its bright little circle

of flowers blooming round the base. "I am really grieved that Sir Patrick should have missed this."

"I think you said, Lady Lundie, that Sir Patrick had been called to Edinburgh by family business?"

"Business, Mrs. Delamayn, which is any thing but agreeable to me, as one member of the family. It has

altered all my arrangements for the autumn. My stepdaughter is to be married next week."

"You have probably heard of him, Mrs. Delamayn, as the heir to Miss Brinkworth's Scotch property?"

"I bring his apologies, as well as Sir Patrick's. They went to Edinburgh together the day before yesterday. The

lawyers engage to have the settlements ready in three or four days more, if a personal consultation can be

managed. Some formal question, I believe, connected with titledeeds. Sir Patrick thought the safest way and

the speediest way would be to take Mr. Brinkworth with him to Edinburghto get the business over

"Most unwillingly! The truth is, Mrs. Delamayn, I am at my stepdaughter's mercy. Her uncle has the

authority, as her guardianand the use he makes of it is to give her her own way in every thing. It was only

on Friday last that she consented to let the day be fixedand even then she made it a positive condition that

the marriage was not to take place in Scotland. Pure willfulness! But what can I do? Sir Patrick submits; and

Mr. Brinkworth submits. If I am to be present at the marriage I must follow their example. I feel it my duty to

be presentand, as a matter of course, I sacrifice myself. We start for London tomorrow."

"No. We only pass through, on our way to Sir Patrick's place in Kentthe place that came to him with the

title; the place associated with the last days of my beloved husband. Another trial for me! The marriage is to

be solemnized on the scene of my bereavement. My old wound is to be reopened on Monday nextsimply

"Yes. This day week. There have been reasons for hurrying it which I need not trouble you with. No words

can say how I wish it was over.But, my dear Mrs. Delamayn, how thoughtless of me to assail you with my

family worries! You are so sympathetic. That is my only excuse. Don't let me keep you from your guests. I

"I really don't know. I missed her when we came out on the terrace. She will very likely join us at the lake.

"We have something to show you besides; we have a breed of swans on the lake, peculiar to the place. My

husband has gone on with some of our friends; and I believe we are expected to follow, as soon as the rest of

"And what a house, Mrs. Delamayn! Historical associations in every corner of it! It is such a relief to my

mind to take refuge in the past. When I am far away from this sweet place I shall people Swanhaven with its

As Lady Lundie announced, in these terms, her intention of adding to the population of the past, the last of

the guests who had been roaming over the old house appeared under the porch. Among the members forming

this final addition to the gardenparty were Blanche, and a friend of her own age whom she had met at

Swanhaven. The two girls lagged behind the rest, talking confidentially, arm in armthe subject (it is surely

"I detest Windygates, Janet. I have the most miserable associations with the place. Don't ask me what they

are! The effort of my life is not to think of them now. I long to see the last of Windygates. As for being

married there, I have made it a condition that I am not to be married in Scotland at all."

"Poor Scotland, Janet, is a place where people don't know whether they are married or not. I have heard all

about it from my uncle. And I know somebody who has been a victiman innocent victimto a Scotch

"Absurd, Blanche! You are thinking of runaway matches, and making Scotland responsible for the difficulties

"I am not at all absurd. I am thinking of the dearest friend I have. If you only knew"

"My dear! I am Scotch, remember! You can be married just as wellI really must insist on thatin

"I never was so unhappy in my life as I have been in Scotland. I never want to see it again. I am determined

to be married in Englandfrom the dear old house where I used to live when I was a little girl. My uncle is

"Is that as much as to say that I don't understand you and feel for you? Perhaps I had better relieve you of my

"Am I to hear my native country run down and not to say a word in defense of it?"

"We Scotch people! you are of Scotch extraction yourself, and you ought to be ashamed to talk in that way. I

A minute since the two young ladies had been like twin roses on one stalk. Now they parted with red cheeks

and hostile sentiments and cutting words. How ardent is the warmth of youth! how unspeakably delicate the

The flock of visitors followed Mrs. Delamayn to the shores of the lake. For a few minutes after the terrace

was left a solitude. Then there appeared under the porch a single gentleman, lounging out with a flower in his

mouth and his hands in his pockets. This was the strongest man at Swanhavenotherwise, Geoffrey

After a moment a lady appeared behind him, walking softly, so as not to be heard. She was superbly dressed

after the newest and the most costly Parisian design. The brooch on her bosom was a single diamond of

resplendent water and great size. The fan in her hand was a masterpiece of the finest Indian workmanship.

She looked what she was, a person possessed of plenty of superfluous money, but not additionally blest with

plenty of superfluous intelligence to correspond. This was the childless young widow of the great

The rich woman tapped the strong man coquettishly on the shoulder with her fan. "Ah! you bad boy!" she

said, with a slightlylabored archness of look and manner. "Have I found you at last?"

Geoffrey sauntered on to the terracekeeping the lady behind him with a thoroughly savage superiority to

"I said I'd come here when I'd got half an hour to myself," he mumbled, turning the flower carelessly between

"Did you come for the sake of seeing the visitors, or did you come for the sake of seeing Me?"

Geoffrey smiled graciously, and gave the flower another turn in his teeth. "You. Of course."

The ironmaster's widow took his arm, and looked up at himas only a young woman would have dared to

look upwith the searching summer light streaming in its full brilliancy on her face.

Reduced to the plain expression of what it is really worth, the average English idea of beauty in women may

be summed up in three wordsyouth, health, plumpness. The more spiritual charm of intelligence and

vivacity, the subtler attraction of delicacy of line and fitness of detail, are little looked for and seldom

appreciated by the mass of men in this island. It is impossible otherwise to account for the extraordinary

blindness of perception which (to give one instance only) makes nine Englishmen out of ten who visit France

come back declaring that they have not seen a single pretty Frenchwoman, in or out of Paris, in the whole

country. Our popular type of beauty proclaims itself, in its fullest material development, at every shop in

which an illustrated periodical is sold. The same fleshyfaced girl, with the same inane smile, and with no

other expression whatever, appears under every form of illustration, week after week, and month after month,

all the year round. Those who wish to know what Mrs. Glenarm was like, have only to go out and stop at any

bookseller's or newsvendor's shop, and there they will see her in the first illustration, with a young woman

in it, which they discover in the window. The one noticeable peculiarity in Mrs. Glenarm's purely

commonplace and purely material beauty, which would have struck an observant and a cultivated man, was

the curious girlishness of her look and manner. No stranger speaking to this womanwho had been a wife at

twenty, and who was now a widow at twentyfourwould ever have thought of addressing her otherwise

"Is that the use you make of a flower when I give it to you?" she said to Geoffrey. "Mumbling it in your teeth,

"If you come to tha t," returned Geoffrey, "I'm more a horse than a man. I'm going to run in a race, and the

"Five to four! I believe he thinks of nothing but betting. You great heavy creature, I can't move you. Don't

you see I want to go like the rest of them to the lake? No! you're not to let go of my arm! You're to take me."

(Perry was the trainer from London. He had arrived sooner than he had been expected, and had entered on his

"Don't talk to me about Perry! A little vulgar wretch. Put him off. You won't? Do you mean to say you are

"The betting's at five to four, my dear. And the race comes off in a month from this."

"Oh! go away to your beloved Perry! I hate you. I hope you'll lose the race. Stop in your cottage. Pray don't

come back to the house. Andmind this!don't presume to say 'my dear' to me again."

"It ain't presuming half far enough, is it? Wait a bit. Give me till the race is runand then I'll presume to

"You! You will be as old as Methuselah, if you wait till I am your wife. I dare say Perry has got a sister.

Geoffrey gave the flower another turn in his teeth, and looked as if he thought the idea worth considering.

He turned away, as if he was going to do it at once. Mrs. Glenarm put out a little hand, ravishingly clothed in

a blushcolored glove, and laid it on the athlete's mighty arm. She pinched those iron muscles (the pride and

glory of England) gently. "What a man you are!" she said. "I never met with any body like you before!"

The whole secret of the power that Geoffrey had acquired over her was in those words.

They had been together at Swanhaven for little more than ten days; and in that time he had made the conquest

of Mrs. Glenarm. On the day before the gardenpartyin one of the leisure intervals allowed him by

Perryhe had caught her alone, had taken her by the arm, and had asked her, in so many words, if she would

marry him. Instances on record of women who have been wooed and won in ten days areto speak it with

all possible respectnot wanting. But an instance of a woman willing to have it known still remains to be

discovered. The ironmaster's widow exacted a promise of secrecy before the committed herself When

Geoffrey had pledged his word to hold his tongue in public until she gave him leave to speak, Mrs. Glenarm,

without further hesitation, said Yeshaving, be it observed, said No, in the course of the last two years, to at

least half a dozen men who were Geoffrey's superiors in every conceivable respect, except personal

However persistently the epicene theorists of modern times may deny it, it is nevertheless a truth plainly

visible in the whole past history of the sexes that the natural condition of a woman is to find her master in a

man. Look in the face of any woman who is in no direct way dependent on a man: and, as certainly as you see

the sun in a cloudless sky, you see a woman who is not happy. The want of a master is their great unknown

want; the possession of a master isunconsciously to themselvesthe only possible completion of their

lives. In ninetynine cases out of a hundred this one primitive instinct is at the bottom of the otherwise

inexplicable sacrifice, when we see a woman, of her own free will, throw herself away on a man who is

unworthy of her. This one primitive instinct was at the bottom of the otherwise inexplicable facility of

Up to the time of her meeting with Geoffrey, the young widow had gathered but one experience in her

intercourse with the worldthe experience of a chartered tyrant. In the brief six months of her married life

with the man whose granddaughter she might have beenand ought to have beenshe had only to lift her

finger to be obeyed. The doting old husband was the willing slave of the petulant young wife's slightest

caprice. At a later period, when society offered its triple welcome to her birth, her beauty, and her

wealthgo where she might, she found herself the object of the same prostrate admiration among the suitors

who vied with each other in the rivalry for her hand. For the first time in her life she encountered a man with

Geoffrey's occupation of the moment especially favored the conflict between the woman's assertion of her

During the days that had intervened between his return to his brother's house and the arrival of the trainer,

Geoffrey had submitted himself to all needful preliminaries of the physical discipline which was to prepare

him for the race. He knew, by previous experience, what exercise he ought to take, what hours he ought to

keep, what temptations at the table he was bound to resist. Over and over again Mrs. Glenarm tried to lure

him into committing infractions of his own disciplineand over and over again the influence with men

which had never failed her before failed her now. Nothing she could say, nothing she could do, would move

this man. Perry arrived; and Geoffrey's defiance of every attempted exercise of the charming feminine

tyranny, to which every one else had bowed, grew more outrageous and more immovable than ever. Mrs.

Glenarm became as jealous of Perry as if Perry had been a woman. She flew into passions; she burst into

tears; she flirted with other men; she threatened to leave the house. All quite useless! Geoffrey never once

missed an appointment with Perry; never once touched any thing to eat or drink that she could offer him, if

Perry had forbidden it. No other human pursuit is so hostile to the influence of the sex as the pursuit of

athletic sports. No men are so entirely beyond the reach of women as the men whose lives are passed in the

cultivation of their own physical strength. Geoffrey resisted Mrs. Glenarm without the slightest effort. He

casually extorted her admiration, and undesignedly forced her respect. She clung to him, as a hero; she

recoiled from him, as a brute; she struggled with him, submitted to him, despised him, adored him, in a

breath. And the clew to it all, confused and contradictory as it seemed, lay in one simple factMrs. Glenarm

"Take me to the lake, Geoffrey!" she said, with a little pleading pressure of the blushcolored hand.

Mrs. Glenarm raised her fan, in a sudden outburst of fury, and broke it with one smart blow on Geoffrey's

"There!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot. "My poor fan broken! You monster, all through you!"

Geoffrey coolly took the broken fan and put it in his pocket. "I'll write to London," he said, "and get you

He looked over each shoulder, to make sure that they were alone then lifted her off the ground (she was no

light weight), held her up in the air like a baby, and gave her a rough loudsounding kiss on each cheek.

"With kind compliments from yours truly!" he saidand burst out laughing, and put her down again.

"How dare you do that?" cried Mrs. Glenarm. "I shall claim Mrs. Delamayn's protection if I am to be insulted

in this way! I will never forgive you, Sir!" As she said those indignant words she shot a look at him which

flatly contradicted them. The next moment she was leaning on his arm, and was looking at him wonderingly,

for the thousandth time, as an entire novelty in her experience of male human kind. "How rough you are,

Geoffrey!" she said, softly. He smiled in recognition of that artless homage to the manly virtue of his

character. She saw the smile, and instantly made another effort to dispute the hateful supremacy of Perry.

"Put him off!" whispere d the daughter of Eve, determined to lure Adam into taking a bite of the apple.

Geoffrey looked at his watch. "Perry expects me in a quarter of an hour," he said.

Mrs. Glenarm's indignation assumed a new form. She burst out crying. Geoffrey surveyed her for a moment

"That's nothing to do with it! Can you turn me out, fit, on the day of the race? Yes? or No?"

"I'm not fit to be seen," she said. "I'm so agitated, I don't know what to do. Come indoors, Geoffreyand

Geoffrey shook his head. "Perry forbids tea," he said, "in the middle of the day."

Geoffrey took a turn on the terraceconsidered a littlestoppedand looked at the porch under which the

irate widow had disappeared from his view. "Ten thousand a year," he said, thinking of the matrimonial

prospect which he was placing in peril. "And devilish well earned," he added, going into the house, under

The offended lady was on a sofa, in the solitary drawingroom. Geoffrey sat down by her. She declined to

look at him. "Don't be a fool!" said Geoffrey, in his most persuasive manner. Mrs. Glenarm put her

handkerchief to her eyes. Geoffrey took it away again without ceremony. Mrs. Glenarm rose to leave the

room. Geoffrey stopped her by main force. Mrs. Glenarm threatened to summon the servants. Geoffrey said,

"All right! I don't care if the whole house knows I'm fond of you!" Mrs. Glenarm looked at the door, and

whispered "Hush! for Heaven's sake!" Geoffrey put her arm in his, and said, "Come along with me: I've got

something to say to you." Mrs. Glenarm drew back, and shook her head. Geoffrey put his arm round her

waist, and walked her out of the room, and out of the housetaking the direction, not of the terrace, but of a

fir plantation on the opposite side of the grounds. Arrived among the trees, he stopped and held up a warning

forefinger before the offended lady's face. "You're just the sort of woman I like," he said; "and there ain't a

man living who's half as sweet on you as I am. You leave off bullying me about Perry, and I'll tell you what

He drew back a step, and fixed his big blue eyes on her, with a look which said, "You are a highlyfavored

woman, if ever there was one yet!" Curiosity instantly took the leading place among the emotions of Mrs.

"A short run, to try me at the top of my speed. There ain't another living soul in all England that I'd let see it

Mrs. Glenarm was conquered again, for the hundredth time at least. She said, softly, "Oh, Geoffrey, if you

could only be always like this!" Her eyes lifted themselves admiringly to his. She took his arm again of her

own accord, and pressed it with a loving clasp. Geoffrey prophetically felt the ten thousand a year in his

pocket. "Do you really love me?" whispered Mrs. Glenarm. "Don't I!" answered the hero. The peace was

They passed through the plantation, and came out on some open ground, rising and falling prettily, in little

hillocks and hollows. The last of the hillocks sloped down into a smooth level plain, with a fringe of

sheltering trees on its farther sidewith a snug little stone cottage among the treesand with a smart little

man, walking up and down before the cottage, holding his hands behind him. The level plain was the hero's

exercising ground; the cottage was the hero's retreat; and the smart little man was the hero's trainer.

If Mrs. Glenarm hated Perry, Perry (judging by appearances) was in no danger of loving Mrs. Glenarm. As

Geoffrey approached with his companion, the trainer came to a standstill, and stared silently at the lady. The

lady, on her side, declined to observe that any such person as the trainer was then in existence, and present in

Perry consulted an elaborate watch, constructed to mark time to the fifth of a second, and answered Geoffrey,

"Show me where you run, I'm dying to see it!" said the eager widow, taking possession of Geoffrey's arm

Geoffrey led her back to a place (marked by a sapling with a little flag attached to it) at some short distance

from the cottage. She glided along by his side, with subtle undulations of movement which appeared to

complete the exasperation of Perry. He waited until she was out of hearingand then he invoked (let us say)

"You take your place there," said Geoffrey, posting her by the sapling. "When I pass you" He stopped, and

surveyed her with a goodhumored masculine pity. "How the devil am I to make you understand it?" he went

on. "Look here! when I pass you, it will be at what you would call (if I was a horse) full gallop. Hold your

tongueI haven't done yet. You're to look on after me as I leave you, to where the edge of the cottage wall

cuts the trees. When you have lost sight of me behind the wall, you'll have seen me run my three hundred

yards from this flag. You're in luck's way! Perry tries me at the long Sprint today. You understand you're to

He nodded, and left her. The face of Perry looked unutterable things when he and Geoffrey met at the door of

"I've got a question to ask you, Mr. Delamayn," said the trainer. "Do you want me? or don't you?"

"What did I say when I first come here?" proceeded Perry, sternly. "I said, 'I won't have nobody a looking on

at a man I'm training. These here ladies and gentlemen may all have made up their minds to see you. I've

made up my mind not to have no lookerson. I won't have you timed at your work by nobody but me. I won't

have every blessed yard of ground you cover put in the noospapers. I won't have a living soul in the secret of

what you can do, and what you can't, except our two selves.'Did I say that, Mr. Delamayn? or didn't I?"

"Then don't you bring no more women here. It's clean against rules. And I won't have it."

Any other living creature adopting this tone of remonstrance would probably have had reason to repent it. But

Geoffrey himself was afraid to show his temper in the presence of Perry. In view of the coming race, the first

and foremost of British trainers was not to be trifled with, even by the first and foremost of British athletes.

"She won't come again," said Geoffrey. "She's going away from Swanhaven in two days' time."

"I've put every shilling I'm worth in the world on you," pursued Perry, relapsing into tenderness. "And I tell

you I felt it! It cut me to the heart when I see you coming along with a woman at your heels. It's a fraud on

"Shut up!" said Geoffrey. "And come and help me to win your money." He kicked open the door of the

After waiting a few minutes by the little flag, Mrs. Glenarm saw the two men approaching her from the

cottage. Dressed in a closefitting costume, light and elastic, adapting itself to every movement, and made to

answer every purpose required by the exercise in which he was abo ut to engage, Geoffrey's physical

advantages showed themselves in their best and bravest aspect. His head sat proud and easy on his firm,

white throat, bared to the air. The rising of his mighty chest, as he drew in deep draughts of the fragrant

summer breeze; the play of his lithe and supple loins; the easy, elastic stride of his straight and shapely legs,

presented a triumph of physical manhood in its highest type. Mrs. Glenarm's eyes devoured him in silent

admiration. He looked like a young god of mythologylike a statue animated with color and life. "Oh,

Geoffrey!" she exclaimed, softly, as he went by. He neither answered, nor looked: he had other business on

hand than listening to soft nonsense. He was gathering himself up for the effort; his lips were set; his fists

were lightly clenched. Perry posted himself at his place, grim and silent, with the watch in his hand. Geoffrey

walked on beyond the flag, so as to give himself start enough to reach his full speed as he passed it. "Now

then!" said Perry. In an instant more, he flew by (to Mrs. Glenarm's excited imagination) like an arrow from a

bow. His action was perfect. His speed, at its utmost rate of exertion, preserved its rare underlying elements

of strength and steadiness. Less and less and less he grew to the eyes that followed his course; still lightly

flying over the ground, still firmly keeping the straight line. A moment more, and the runner vanished behind

the wall of the cottage, and the stopwatch of the trainer returned to its place in his pocket.

Not a word passed while the trainer was attending to his man, and while the man was recovering his breath.

When Geoffrey had been carefully rubbed down, and clothed again in his ordinary garments, Perry pulled a

comfortable easychair out of a corner. Geoffrey fell into the chair, rather than sat down in it. Perry started,

Geoffrey made no attempt to insist on an immediate reply. He smiled faintly. After an interval of less than ten

Geoffrey opened his eyes with an effort. "No," he said. The word had hardly passed his lips before his eyes

Perry emitted a long whistle under his breath. He stooped and laid two of his fingers softly on Geoffrey's

pulse. The beat was slow, heavy, and labored. It was unmistakably the pulse of an exhausted man.

The trainer changed color, and took a turn in the room. He opened a cupboard, and produced from it his diary

of the preceding year. The entries relating to the last occasion on which he had prepared Geoffrey for a

footrace included the fullest details. He turned to the report of the first trial, at three hundred yards, full

speed. The time was, by one or two seconds, not so good as the time on this occasion. But the result,

afterward, was utterly different. There it was, in Perry's own words: "Pulse good. Man in high spirits. Ready,

Perry looked round at the same man, a year afterwardutterly worn out, and fast asleep in the chair.

He fetched pen, ink, and paper out of the cupboard, and wrote two lettersboth marked "Private." The first

was to a medical man, a great authority among trainers. The second was to Perry's own agent in London,

whom he knew he could trust. The letter pledged the agent to the strictest secrecy, and directed him to back

Geoffrey's opponent in the FootRace for a sum equal to the sum which Perry had betted on Geoffrey

himself. "If you have got any money of your own on him," the letter concluded, "do as I do. 'Hedge'and

"Another of 'em gone stale!" said the trainer, looking round again at the sleeping man. "He'll lose the race."

They said, "Oh, what a number of them!"which was all that was to be said by persons ignorant of the

Some of them said, "How solemn!" Some of them said, "How romantic!" Some of them said nothingbut

Here again the popular sentiment struck the right note at starting. The lake was hidden in the centre of a fir

wood. Except in the middle, where the sunlight reached them, the waters lay black under the sombre shadow

of the trees. The one break in the plantation was at the farther end of the lake. The one sign of movement and

life to be seen was the ghostly gliding of the swans on the deadstill surface of the water. It was solemnas

they said; it was romanticas they said. It was dismalas they thought. Pages of description could express

Having satiated itself with the swans, having exhausted the lake, the general curiosity reverted to the break in

the trees at the farther endremarked a startlingly artificial object, intruding itself on the scene, in the shape

of a large red curtain, which hung between two of the tallest firs, and closed the prospect beyond from

viewrequested an explanation of the curtain from Julius Delamaynand received for answer that the

mystery should be revealed on the arrival of his wife with the tardy remainder of the guests who had loitered

On the appearance of Mrs. Delamayn and the stragglers, the united party coasted the shore of the lake, and

stood assembled in front of the curtain. Pointing to the silken cords hanging at either side of it, Julius

Delamayn picked out two little girls (children of his wife's sister), and sent them to the cords, with

instructions to pull, and see what happened. The nieces of Julius pulled with the eager hands of children in

the presence of a mysterythe curtains parted in the middle, and a cry of universal astonishment and delight

At the end of a broad avenue of firs a cool green glade spread its grassy carpet in the midst of the surrounding

plantation. The ground at the farther end of the glade rose; and here, on the lower slopes, a bright little spring

Along the righthand edge of the turf ran a row of tables, arrayed in spotless white, and covered with

refreshments waiting for the guests. On the opposite side was a band of music, which burst into harmony at

the moment when the curtains were drawn. Looking back through the avenue, the eye caught a distant

glimpse of the lake, where the sunlight played on the water, and the plumage of the gliding swans flashed

softly in brilliant white. Such was the charming surprise which Julius Delamayn had arranged for his friends.

It was only at moments like theseor when he and his wife were playing Sonatas in the modest little

musicroom at Swanhaventhat Lord Holchester's eldest son was really happy. He secretly groaned over

the duties which his position as a landed gentleman imposed upon him; and he suffered under some of the

highest privileges of his rank and station as under social martyrdom in its cruelest form.

He led the way to the tables, with the two ladies nearest to himutterly careless whether they were or were

not among the ladies of the highest rank then present. To Lady Lundie's astonishment he took the first seat he

came to, without appearing to care what place he occupied at his own feast. The guests, following his

example, sat where they pleased, reckless of precedents and dignities. Mrs. Delamayn, feeling a special

interest in a young lady who was shortly to be a bride, took Blanche's arm. Lady Lundie attached herself

resolutely to her hostess on the other side. The three sat together. Mrs. Delamayn did her best to encourage

Blanche to talk, and Blanche did her best to meet the advances made to her. The experiment succeeded but

poorly on either side. Mrs. Delamayn gave it up in despair, and turned to Lady Lundie, with a strong

suspicion that some unpleasant subject of reflection was preying privately on the bride's mind. The

conclusion was soundly drawn. Blanche's little outbreak of temper with her friend on the terrace, 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 Arnoldbut she was as anxious as ever, and as wretched as ever, about Anne; and she

was still on the watch (no matter what Sir Patrick might say or do) to seize the first opportunity of renewing

Meanwhile the eating, the drinking, and the talking went merrily on. The band played its liveliest melodies;

the servants kept the glasses constantly filled: round all the tables gayety and freedom reigned supreme. The

one conversation in progress, in which the talkers were not in social harmony with each other, was the

Among Lady Lundie's other accomplishments the power of making disagreeable discoveries ranked high. At

the dinner in the glade she had not failed to noticewhat every body else had passed overthe absence at

the festival of the hostess's brotherinlaw; and more remarkable still, the disappearance of a lady who was

actually one of the guests staying in the house: in plainer words, the disappearance of Mrs. Glenarm.

"Am I mistaken?" said her ladyship, lifting her eyeglass, and looking round the tables. "Surely there is a

"Geoffrey promised to be here. But he is not particularly attentive, as you may have noticed, to keeping

engagements of this sort. Every thing is sacrificed to his training. We only see him at rare intervals now."

With that reply Mrs. Delamayn attempted to change the subject. Lady Lundie lifted her eyeglass, and

"Pardon me," persisted her ladyship"but is it possible that I have discovered another absentee? I don't see

Mrs. Glenarm. Yet surely she must be here! Mrs. Glenarm is not training for a footrace. Do you see her?

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

In those words Mrs. Delamayn (as she fondly imagined) dismissed the subject. But Lady Lundie's robust

curiosity proved unassailable by even the broadest hint. Carried away, in all probability, by the infection of

merriment about her, her ladyship displayed unexpected reserves of vivacity. The mind declines to realize it;

"Shall we put two and two together?" said Lady Lundie, with a ponderous playfulness wonderful to see.

"Here, on the one hand, is Mr. Geoffrey Delamayna young single man. And here, on the other, is Mrs.

Glenarma young widow. Rank on the side of the young single man; riches on the side of the young widow.

And both mysteriously absent at the same time, from the same pleasant party. 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 all her heart, into the conspiracy for making a

match between Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm. But she was not prepared to own that the lady's facility had (in

spite of all attempts to conceal it from discovery) made the conspiracy obviously successful in ten days' time.

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

A heavy body is slow to acquire movementand slow to abandon movement, when once acquired. The

playfulness of Lady Lundie, being essentially heavy, followed the same rule. She still persisted in being as

"Oh, what a diplomatic answer!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I think I can interpret it, though, for all that. A

little bird tells me that I shall see a Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn in London, next season. And I, for one, shall not

"If you persist in letting your imagination run away with you, Lady Lundie, I can't possibly help it. I can only

This time, even Lady Lundie understood that it would be wise to say no more. She smiled and nodded, in

high private approval of her own extraordinary cleverness. If she had been asked at that moment who was the

most brilliant Englishwoman living, she would have looked inward on herselfand would have seen, as in a

From the moment when the talk at her side entered on the subject of Geoffrey Delamayn and Mrs.

Glenarmand throughout the brief period during which it remained occupied with that topicBlanche

became conscious of a strong smell of some spirituous liquor wafted down on her, as she fancied, from

behind and from above. Finding the odor grow stronger and stronger, she looked round to see whether any

special manufacture of grog was proceeding inexplicably at the back of her chair. The moment she moved her

head, her attention was claimed by a pair of tremulous gouty old hands, offering her a grouse pie, profusely

"Eh, my bonny Miss!" whispered a persuasive voice at her ear, "ye're joost stairving in a land o' plenty. Tak'

noseBishopriggspreserved in spirits and ministering at the festival at Swanhaven Lodge!

Blanche had only seen him for a moment on the memorable night of the storm, when she had surprised Anne

at the inn. But instants passed in the society of Bishopriggs were as good as hours spent in the company of

inferior men. Blanche instantly recognized him; instantly called to mind Sir Patrick's conviction that he was

in possession of Anne's lost letter; instantly rushed to the conclusion that, in discovering Bishopriggs, she had

discovered a chance of tracing Anne. Her first impulse was to claim acquaintance with him on the spot. But

the eyes of her neighbors were on her, warning her to wait. She took a little of the pie, and looked hard at

Bishopriggs. That discreet man, showing no sign of recognition on his side, bowed respectfully, and went on

He had not only got the letter about himbut, more than that, he was actually then on the lookout for the

The domestic establishment of Swanhaven Lodge included no formidable array of servants. When Mrs.

Delamayn gave a large party, she depended for such additional assistance as was needed partly on the

contributions of her friends, partly on the resources of the principal inn at Kirkandrew. Mr. Bishopriggs,

serving at the time (in the absence of any better employment) as a supernumerary at the inn, made one among

the waiters who could be spared to assist at the gardenparty. The name of the gentleman by whom he was to

be employed for the day had struck him, when he first heard it, as having a familiar sound. He had made his

inquiries; and had then betaken himself for additional information, to the letter which he had picked up from

The sheet of notepaper, lost by Anne, conta ined, it may be remembered, two lettersone signed by

herself; the other signed by Geoffreyand both suggestive, to a stranger's eye, of relations between the

Thinking it just possibleif he kept his eyes and ears well open at Swanhaventhat he might improve his

prospect of making a marketable commodity of the stolen correspondence, Mr. Bishopriggs had put the letter

in his pocket when he left Kirkandrew. He had recognized Blanche, as a friend of the lady at the innand as

a person who might perhaps be turned to account, in that capacity. And he had, moreover, heard every word

of the conversation between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn on the subject of Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm.

There were hours to be passed before the guests would retire, and before the waiters would be dismissed. The

conviction was strong in the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs that he might find good reason yet for congratulating

himself on the chance which had associated him with the festivities at Swanhaven Lodge.

It was still early in the afternoon when the gayety at the dinnertable began, in certain quarters, to show signs

The younger members of the partyespecially the ladiesgrew restless with the appearance of the dessert.

One after another they looked longingly at the smooth level of elastic turf in the middle of the glade. One

after another they beat time absently with their fingers to the waltz which the musicians happened to be

playing at the moment. Noticing these symptoms, Mrs. Delamayn set the example of rising; and her husband

sent a message to the band. In ten minutes more the first quadrille was in progress on the grass; the spectators

were picturesquely grouped round, looking on; and the servants and waiters, no longer wanted, had retired

The last person to leave the deserted tables was the venerable Bishopriggs. He alone, of the men in

attendance, had contrived to combine a sufficient appearance of waiting on the company with a clandestine

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 the crumbsactually, emptying the

wineglasses. Immersed in this occupation, he was startled by a lady's voice behind him, and, turning as

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

"Lord's sake, miss," he exclaimed "d'ye relly mean to offend yer stomach wi' cauld waterwhen there's wine

Blanche gave him a look. Slowness of perception was not on the list of the failings of Bishopriggs. He took

up a tumbler, winked with his one available eye, and led the way to the rivulet. There was nothing remarkable

in the spectacle of a young lady who wanted a glass of springwater, or of a waiter who was getting it for her.

Nobody was surprised; and (with the band playing) nobody could by any chance overhear what might be said

Mr. Bishopriggs had his reasons (carefully inclosed in his pocketbook) for not being too ready to commit

"I'm no' saying I canna remember ye, miss. Whar's the man would mak' sic an answer as that to a bonny

By way of assisting his memory Blanche took out her purse. Bishopriggs became absorbed in the scenery. He

looked at the running 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 little I know that's gude aboot ye, in yer unconvairted state. Ye're a type 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; and then ye're a type o' toddyand human life (I grant it) has got something to

"I have heard more about you, since I was at the inn," proceeded Blanche, "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 went on, earnestly. "I know that you have lost your place at the inn, because

you gave all your attention to that lady. She is my dearest friend, Mr. Bishopriggs. I want to thank you. I do

All the girl's heart was in her eyes and in her voice as she emptied her purse into the gouty (and greedy) old

A young lady with a wellfilled purse (no matter how rich the young lady may be) is a combination not often

witnessed in any country on the civilized earth. Either the money is always spent, or the money has been

forgotten on the toilettable at home. Blanche's purse contained a sovereign and some six or seven shillings

in silver. As pocketmoney for an heiress it was contemptible. But as a gratuity to Bishopriggs it was

magnificent. The old rascal put the money into his pocket with one hand, and dashed away the tears of

"Cast yer bread on the waters," cried Mr. Bishopriggs, with his one eye raised devotionally to the sky, "and

ye sall find it again after monny days! Heeh! hech! didna I say when I first set eyes on that puir leddy, 'I feel

like a fether to ye?' It's seemply mairvelous to see hoo a man's ain gude deeds find him oot in 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' trumpettongued when that

winsome creature first lookit at me. Will it be she now that told ye of the wee bit sairvice I rendered to her in

"I don't know, Mr. Bishopriggs. I am more miserable about it than I can say. She has gone awayand I don't

"Ow! ow! that's bad. And the bit husbandcreature danglin' at her petticoat's tail one day, and awa' wi' the

"Eh! he was joost a puir weak creature. Didn't know a glass o' good sherrywine when he'd got it. Free wi'

Finding it impossible to extract from Mr. Bishopriggs any clearer description of the man who had been with

Anne at the inn than this, Blanche approached the main object of the interview. Too anxious to waste time in

circumlocution, she turned the conversation at once to the delicate and doubtful subject of the lost letter.

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

The clouds of doubt rolled off the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs. The lady's friend knew of the lost letter. And,

"Ay! ay!" he said, with all due appearance of carelessness. "Like eneugh. From the mistress downward,

they're a' kittle cattle at the inn since I've left 'em. What may it ha' been that she lost?"

The look of uneasy expectation reappeared in the eye of Mr. Bishopriggs. It was a questionand a serious

question, from his point of viewwhether any suspicion of theft was attached to the disappearance of the

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

"Wherefore suld I ha' heard aboot it?" He looked hard at Blanche and detected a momentary hesitation in

her face. "Tell me this, my young leddy," he went on, advancing warily near to the point. "When ye're

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

If she could have produced the money; and if she had said, boldly, "You have got the letter, Mr. Bishopriggs:

I pledge my word that no questions shall be asked, and I offer you ten pounds for it"in all probability the

bargain would have been struck; and the whole course of coming events would, in that case, have been

altered. But she had no money left; and there were no friends, in the circle at Swanhaven, to whom she could

apply, without being misinterpreted, for a loan of ten pounds, to be privately intrusted to her on the spot.

Under stress of sheer necessity Blanche abandoned all hope of making any present appeal of a pecuniary

The one other way of attaining her object that she could see was to arm herself with the influence of Sir

Patrick's name. A man, placed in her position, would have thought it mere madness to venture on such a risk

as this. But Blanchewith one act of rashness already on her consciencerushed, womanlike, straight to

the commission of another. The same headlong eagerness to reach her end, which had hurried her into

questioning Geoffrey before he left Windygates, now drove her, just as recklessly, into taking the

management of Bishopriggs out of Sir Patrick's skilled and practiced hands. The starving sisterly love in her

hungered for a trace of Anne. Her heart whispered, Risk it! And Blanche risked it on the spot.

The opening hand of Mr. Bishopriggsready to deliver the letter, and receive the rewardclosed again

"Sir Paitrick?" he repeated "Ow! ow! ye've een tauld Sir Paitrick aboot it, have ye? There's a chiel wi' a lang

head on his shouthers, 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

"Sir Patrick thought you might have found the letter," she said, "and might not have remembered about it

Bishopriggs looked back into his own personal experience of his old masterand drew the correct

conclusion that Sir Patrick's view of his connection with the disappearance of the letter was not the purely

unsuspicious view reported by Blanche. "The dour auld deevil," he thought to himself, "knows me better than

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

"Deil a bit I know o' the letter. The first I ha' heard o' it is what 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 second time? Surely not! There was unquestionably a chance, on this occasion, that the man

might be prevailed upon to place the trust in her uncle which he was too cautious to confide to a stranger like

herself. The one wise thing to do now was to pave the way for the exertion of Sir Patrick's superior influence,

and Sir Patrick's superior skill. She resumed the conversation with that object in view.

"I am sorry to hear that Sir Patrick has guessed wrong," she resumed. "My friend was anxious to recover the

letter when I last saw her; and I hoped to hear news of it from you. However, right or wrong, Sir Patrick has

some reasons for wishing to see youand I take the opportunity of telling you so. He has left a letter to wait

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

"In that case," said Blanche, promptly, "you had better give me an address at which Sir Patrick can write to

you. You wouldn't, I suppose, wish me to say that I had seen you here, and that you refused to communicate

"Never think it! " cried Bishopriggs, fervently. "If there's ain thing 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 has need o' me, there." He handed a dirty little card to Blanche

containing 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, for the time being."

Blanche received the address with a sense of unspeakable relief. If she had once more ventured on taking Sir

Patrick's place, and once more failed in justifying her rashness by the results, she had at least gained some

atoning advantage, this time, by opening a means of communication between her uncle and Bishopriggs.

"You will hear from Sir Patrick," she said, and nodded kindly, and returned to her place among the guests.

"I'll hear from Sir Paitrick, wull I?" repeated Bishopriggs when he was left by himself. "Sir Paitrick will wark

naething less than a meeracle if he finds Sawmuel Bishopriggs at the Cowgate, Embro!"

He laughed softly over his own cleverness; and withdrew to a lonely place in the plantation, in which he

could consult the stolen correspondence without fear of being observed by any living creature. Once more the

truth had tried to struggle into light, before the day of the marriage, and once more Blanche had innocently

AFTER a new and attentive reading of Anne's letter to Geoffrey, and of Geoffrey's letter to Anne,

Bishopriggs laid down comfortably under a tree, and set himself the task of seeing his position plainly as it

The profitable disposal of the correspondence to Blanche was no longer among the possibilities involved in

the case. As for treating with Sir Patrick, Bishopriggs determined to keep equally dear of the Cowgate,

Edinburgh, and of Mrs. Inchbare's inn, so long as there was the faintest chance of his pushing his own

interests in any other quarter. No person living would be capable of so certainly extracting the

correspondence from him, on such ruinously cheap terms as his old master. "I'll no' put myself under Sir

Paitrick's thumb," thought Bishopriggs, "till I've gane my ain rounds among the lave o' them first."

Rendered into intelligible English, this resolution pledged him to hold no communication with Sir

Patrickuntil he had first tested his success in negotiating with other persons, who might be equally

interested in getting possession of the correspondence, and more liberal in giving hushmoney to the thief

He had only to recall the conversation which he had overheard between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn to

arrive at the discovery of one person, to begin with, who was directly interested in getting possession of his

own letter. Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn was in a fair way of being married to a lady named Mrs. Glenarm. And

here was this same Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn in matrimonial correspondence, little more than a fortnight since,

Whatever his position between the two women might be, his interest in possessing himself of the

correspondence was plain beyond all doubt. It was equally clear that the first thing to be done by Bishopriggs

was to find the means of obtaining a personal interview with him. If the interview led to nothing else, it

would decide one important question which still remained to be solved. The lady whom Bishopriggs had

waited on at Craig Fernie might well be "Anne Silv ester." Was Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, in that case. the

Bishopriggs rose to his gouty feet with all possible alacrity, and hobbled away to make the necessary

inquiries, addressing himself, not to the menservants at the dinnertable, who would be sure to insist on his

He easily obtained the necessary directions for finding the cottage. But he was warned that Mr. Geoffrey

Delamayn's trainer allowed nobody to see his patron at exercise, and that he would certainly be ordered off

Bearing this caution in mind, Bishopriggs made a circuit, on reaching the open ground, so as to approach the

cottage at the back, 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 obtained that.

He was still hesitating at the outer line of the trees, when he heard a loud, imperative voice, calling from the

front of the cottage, "Now, Mr. Geoffrey! Time's up!" Another voice answered, "All right!" and, after an

interval, Geoffrey Delamayn appeared on the open ground, proceeding to the point from which he was

Advancing a few steps to look at his man more closely, Bishopriggs was instantly detected by the quick eye

of the trainer. "Hullo!" cried Perry, "what do you want here?" Bishopriggs opened his lips to make an excuse.

"Who the devil are you?" roared Geoffrey. The trainer answered the question out of the resources of his own

experience. "A spy, Sirsent to time you at your work." Geoffrey lifted his mighty fist, and sprang forward

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

up againyou've scared him out of his wits." The statement was strictly true. The terror of Bishopriggs at

the sight of Geoffrey's fist restored to him the activity of his youth. He ran for the first time for twenty years;

and only stopped to remember his infirmities, and to catch his breath, when he was out of sight of the cottage,

He sat down to rest and recover himself, with the comforting inner conviction that, in one respect at least, he

had gained his point. The furious savage, with the eyes that darted fire and the fist that threatened destruction,

was a total stranger to him. In other words, not the man who had passed as the lady's husband at the inn.

At the same time it was equally certain that he was the man involved in the compromising correspondence

which Bishopriggs possessed. To appeal, however, to his interest in obtaining the letter was entirely

incompatible (after the recent exhibition of his fist) with the strong regard which Bishopriggs felt for his own

personal security. There was no alternative now but to open negotiations with the one other person concerned

in the matter (fortunately, on this occasion, a person of the gentler sex), who was actually within reach. Mrs.

Glenarm was at Swanhaven. She had a direct interest in clearing up the question of a prior claim to Mr.

Geoffrey Delamayn on the part of another woman. And she could only do that by getting the correspondence

"Praise Providence for a' its mercies!" said Bishopriggs, getting on his feet again. "I've got twa strings, as

they say, to my boo. I trow the woman's the canny string o' the twaand we'll een try the twanging of her."

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

The dance had reached its climax of animation when Bishopriggs reappeared on the scene of his duties; and

the ranks of the company had been recruited, in his absence, by the very person whom it was now his

Receiving, with supple submission, a reprimand for his prolonged absence from the chief of the servants,

Bishopriggskeeping his one observant eye carefully on the lookoutbusied himself in promoting the

While he was thus occupied, his attention was attracted by two persons who, in very different ways, stood out

The first person was a vivacious, irascible old gentleman, who persisted in treating the undeniable fact of his

age on the footing of a scandalous false report set afloat by Time. He was superbly strapped and padded. His

hair, his teeth, and his complexion were triumphs of artificial youth. When he was not occupied among the

youngest women presentwhich was very seldomhe attached himself exclusively to the youngest men.

He insisted on joining every dance. Twice he measured his length upon the grass, but nothing daunted him.

He was waltzing again, with another young woman, at the next dance, as if nothing had happened. 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;" more formally described in society as Captain

Newenden, the last male representative of one of the oldest families in England.

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

To the eye of Bishopriggs, she was a miracle of beauty, with a small fortune for a poor man carried about her

in silk, lace, and jewelry. No woman present was the object of such special attention among the men as this

fascinating and priceless creature. She sat fanning herself with a matchless work of art (supposed to be a

handkerchief) representing an island of cambric in the midst of an ocean of lace. She was surrounded by a

little court of admirers, who fetched and carried at her slightest nod, like welltrained dogs. Sometimes they

brought refreshments, which she had asked for, only to decline taking them when they came. Sometimes they

brought information of what was going on among the dancers, which the lady had been eager to receive when

they went away, and in which she had ceased to feel the smallest interest when they came back. Every body

burst into ejaculations of distress when she was asked to account for her absence from the dinner, and

answered, "My poor nerves." Every body said, "What should we have done without you!"when she

doubted if she had done wisely in joining the party at all. Inquiring who this favored lady might be,

Bishopriggs discovered that she was the niece of the indomitable old gentleman who would danceor, more

With all his enormous assurance Bishopriggs was daunted when he found himself facing the question of what

To open negotiations with Mrs. Glenarm, under present circumstances, was, for a man in his position, simply

impossible. But, apart from this, the prospect of profitably addressing himself to that lady in the future was,

Supposing the means of disclosing Geoffrey's position to her to be foundwhat would she do, when she

received her warning? She would in all probability apply to one of two formidable men, both of whom were

interested in the matter. If she went straight to the man accused of attempting to marry her, at a time when he

was already engaged to another womanBishopriggs would find himself confronted with the owner of that

terrible fist, which had justly terrified him even on a distant and cursory view. If, on the other hand she placed

her interests in the care of her uncleBishopriggs had only to look at the captain, and to calculate his chance

of imposing terms on a man who owed Life a bill of more than sixty years' date, and who openly defied time

With these serious obstacles standing in the way, what was to be done? The only alternative left was to

Reaching this conclusion, Bishopriggs decided to ascertain from the servants what the lady's future

movements might be; and, thus informed, to startle her by anonymous warnings, conveyed through the post,

and claiming their answer through the advertising channel of a newspaper. Here was the certainty of alarming

her, coupled with the certainty of safety to himself! Little did Mrs. Glenarm dream, when she capriciously

stopped a servant going by with some glasses of lemonade, that the wretched old creature who offered the

tray contemplated corresponding with her before the week was out, in the double character of her

The evening advanced. The shadows lengthened. The waters of the lake grew pitchy black. The gliding of the

ghostly swans became rare and more rare. The elders of the party thought of the drive home. The juniors

(excepting Captain Newenden) began to flag at the dance. Little by little the comfortable attractions of the

housetea, coffee, and candlelight in snug roomsresumed their influence. The guests abandoned the

Lady Lundie and her party were the first to send for the carriage and say farewell; the breakup of the

household at Windygates on the next day, and the journey south, being sufficient apologies for setting the

example of retreat. In an hour more the only visitors left were the guests staying at Swanhaven Lodge.

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

"I've got my ain concerns. to think of," was the only answer he vouchsafed to the remonstrances addressed to

him. The "concerns" alluded to, comprehended, among other changes of plan, his departure from Kirkandrew

the next daywith a reference, in case of inquiries, to his convenient friend at the Cowgate, Edinburgh. His

actual destinationto be kept a secret from every bodywas Perth. The neighborhood of this townas

stated on the authority of her own maidwas the part of Scotland to which the rich widow contemplated

removing when she left Swanhaven in two days' time. At Perth, Bishopriggs knew of more than one place in

which he could get temporary employmentand at Perth he determined to make his first anonymous

The guests were sleepy and dull after the excitement of the day. Mrs. Glenarm retired early. At eleven o'clock

Julius Delamayn was the only person left up in the house. He was understood to be in his study, preparing an

address to the electors, based on instructions sent from London by his father. He was actually occupied in the

musicroomnow that there was nobody to discover himplaying 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

Geoffrey had sustained the later trial of walking for a given time and distance, at his full speed, without

showing any of those symptoms of exhaustion which had followed the more serious experiment of running,

to which he had been subjected earlier in the day. Perry, honestly bentthough he had privately hedged his

own betson doing his best to bring his man in good order to the post on the day of the race, had forbidden

Geoffrey to pay his evening visit to the house, and had sent him to bed earlier than usual. The trainer was

alone, looking over his own written rules, and considering what modifications he should introduce into the

diet and exercises of the next day, when he was startled by a sound of groaning from the bedroom in which

He went in, and found Geoffrey rolling to and fro on the pillow, with his face contorted, with his hands

clenched, and with the perspiration standing thick on his foreheadsuffering evidently under the nervous

Perry spoke to him, and pulled him up in the bed. He woke with a scream. He stared at his trainer in vacant

terror, and spoke to his trainer in wild words. "What are your horrid eyes looking at over my shoulder?" he

cried out. "Go to the deviland take your infernal slate with you!" Perry spoke to him once more. "You've

been dreaming of somebody, Mr. Delamayn. What's to do about a slate?" Geoffrey looked eagerly round the

room, and heaved a heavy breath of relief. "I could have sworn she was staring at me over the dwarf

peartrees," he said. "All right, I know where I am now." Perry (attributing the dream to nothing more

important than a passing indigestion) administered some brandy and water, and left him to drop off again to

sleep. He fretfully forbade the extinguishing of the light. "Afraid of the dark?" said Perry, with a laugh. No.

THE time was the night before the marriage. The place was Sir Patrick's house in Kent.

The lawyers had kept their word. The settlements had been forwarded, and had been signed two days since.

With the exception of the surgeon and one of the three young gentlemen from the University, who had

engagements elsewhere, the visitors at Windygates had emigrated southward to be present at the marriage.

Besides these gentlemen, there were some ladies among the guests invited by Sir Patrickall of them family

connections, and three of them appointed to the position of Blanche's bridesmaids. Add one or two neighbors

There was nothing architecturally remarkable about Sir Patrick's house. Ham Farm possessed neither the

splendor of Windygates nor the picturesque antiquarian attraction of Swanhaven. It was a perfectly

commonplace English country seat, surrounded by perfectly commonplace English scenery. Snug monotony

welcomed you when you went in, and snug monotony met you again when you turned to the window and

The animation and variety wanting at Ham Farm were far from being supplied by the company in the house.

It was remembered, at an afterperiod, that a duller weddingparty had never been assembled together.

Sir Patrick, having no early associations with the place, openly admitted that his residence in Kent preyed on

his spirits, and that he would have infinitely preferred a room at the inn in the village. The effort to sustain his

customary vivacity was not encouraged by persons and circumstances about him. Lady Lundie's fidelity to

the memory of the late Sir Thomas, on the scene of his last illness and death, persisted in asserting itself,

under an ostentation of concealment which tried even the trained temper of Sir Patrick himself. Blanche, still

depressed by her private anxieties about Anne, was in no condition of mind to look gayly at the last

memorable days of her maiden life. Arnold, sacrificedby express stipulation on the part of Lady

Lundieto the prurient delicacy which forbids the bridegroom, before marriage, to sleep in the same house

with the bride, found himself ruthlessly shut out from Sir Patrick's hospitality, and exiled every night to a

bedroom at the inn. He accepted his solitary doom with a resignation which extended its sobering influence to

his customary flow of spirits. As for the ladies, the elder among them existed in a state of chronic protest

against Lady Lundie, and the younger were absorbed in the essentially serious occupation of considering and

comparing their weddingdresses. The two young gentlemen from the University performed prodigies of

yawning, in the intervals of prodigies of billiard playing. Smith said, in despair, "There's no making things

On the Sunday eveningwhich was the evening before the marriagethe dullness, as a matter of course,

But two of the occupations in which people may indulge on week days are regarded as harmless on Sunday

by the obstinately antiChristian tone of feeling which prevails in this matter among the AngloSaxon race.

It is not sinful to wrangle in religious controversy; and it is not sinful to slumber over a religious book. The

ladies at Ham Farm practiced the pious observance of the evening on this plan. The seniors of the sex

wrangled in Sunday controversy; and the juniors of the sex slumbered over Sunday books. As for the men, it

is unnecessary to say that the young ones smoked when they were not yawning, and yawned when they were

not smoking. Sir Patrick staid in the library, sorting old letters and examining old accounts. Every person in

the house felt the oppression of the senseless social prohibitions which they had imposed on themselves. And

yet every person in the house would have been scandalized if the plain question had been put: You know this

is a tyranny of your own making, you know you don't really believe in it, you know you don't really like

itwhy do you submit? The freest people on the civilized earth are the only people on the civilized earth

The evening dragged its slow length on; the welcome time drew nearer and nearer for oblivion in bed. Arnold

was silently contemplating, for the last time, his customary prospects of banishment to the inn, when he

became aware that Sir Patrick was making signs to him. He rose and followed his host into the empty

It meantso far as Arnold was concernedthat a private conversation was about to diversify the monotony

"I have a word to say to you, Arnold," the old gentleman began, "before you become a married man. Do you

remember the conversation at dinner yesterday, about the dancingparty at Swanhaven Lodge?"

"She told me, what I can't believe, that Geoffrey Delamayn was going to be married to Mrs. Glenarm."

"Exactly! I observed that you appeared to be startled by what my sisterinlaw had said; and when you

declared that appearances must certainly have misled her, you looked and spoke (to my mind) like a man

animated by a strong feeling of indignation. Was I wrong in drawing that conclusion?"

"In that case," rejoined Sir Patrick, "I had better go on at once with the matter in handleaving you to see

for yourself the connection between what I am about to say, and the question that I have just put. When I

have done, you shall then reply to me or not, exactly as you think right. My dear boy, the subject on which I

Arnold started. Sir Patrick looked at him with a moment's attention, and went on:

"My niece has her faults of temper and her failings of judgment," he said. "But she has one atoning quality

(among many others) which ought to makeand which I believe will makethe happiness of your married

life. In the popular phrase, Blanche is as true as steel. Once her friend, always her friend. Do you see what I

am coming to? She has said nothing about it, Arnold; but she has not yielded one inch in her resolution to

reunite herself to Miss Silvester. One of the first questions you will have to determine, after tomorrow, will

be the question of whether you do, or not, sanction your wife in attempting to communicate with her lost

"I am heartily sorry for Blanche's lost friend, Sir Patrick. My wife will have my full approval if she tries to

"I think you are wrong," said Sir Patrick. "I, too, am sorry for Miss Silvester. But I am convinced that she has

not left Blanche without a serious reason for it. And I believe you will be encouraging your wife in a hopeless

effort, if you encourage her to persist in the search for her lost friend. However, it is your affair, and not

mine. Do you wish me to offer you any facilities for tracing Miss Silvester which I may happen to possess?"

"If you can help us over any obstacles at starting, Sir Patrick, it will be a kindness to Blanche, and a kindness

"Very good. I suppose you remember what I said to you, one morning, when we were talking of Miss

"Quite right! On the evening of the day when I said that I received information that Miss Silvester had been

traced to Glasgow. You won't require me to explain why I never mentioned this to you or to Blanche. In

mentioning it now, I communicate to you the only positive information, on the subject of the missing woman,

which I possess. There are two other chances of finding her (of a more speculative kind) which can only be

tested by inducing two men (both equally difficult to deal with) to confess what they know. One of those two

Arnold started, and changed color. Sir Patrick (silently noticing him) stated the circumstances relating to

Anne's lost letter, and to the conclusion in his own mind which pointed to Bishopriggs as the person in

"I have to add," he proceeded, "that Blanche, unfortunately, found an opportunity of speaking to Bishopriggs

at Swanhaven. When she and Lady Lundie joined us at Edinburgh she showed me privately a card which had

been given to her by Bishopriggs. He had described it as the address at which he might be heard ofand

Blanche entreated me, before we started for London, to put the reference to the test. I told her that she had

committed a serious mistake in attempting to deal with Bishopriggs on her own responsibility; and I warned

her of the result in which I was firmly persuaded the inquiry would end. She declined to believe that

Bishopriggs had deceived her. I saw that she would take the matter into her own hands again unless I

interfered; and I went to the place. Exactly as I had anticipated, the person to whom the card referred me had

not heard of Bishopriggs for years, and knew nothing whatever about his present movements. Blanche had

simply put him on his guard, and shown him the propriety of keeping out of the way. If you should ever meet

with him in the futuresay nothing to your wife, and communicate with me. I decline to assist you in

searching for Miss Silvester; but I have no objection to assist in recovering a stolen letter from a thief. So

Arnold sat down again, and waited, in speechless suspense, to hear what was coming next.

"I have reason to know," said Sir Patrick, "that Mr. Delamayn is thoroughly well acquainted with the nature

of Miss Silvester's present troubles. What his actual connection is with them, and how he came into

possession of his information, I have not found out. My discovery begins and ends with the simple fact that

"It would occupy a long time," answered Sir Patrick, "to tell you howand it is not at all necessary to our

purpose that you should know. My present obligation merely binds me to tell youin strict confidence,

mind!that Miss Silvester's secrets are no secrets to Mr. Delamayn. I leave to your discretion the use you

may make of that information. You are now entirely on a par with me in relation to your knowledge of the

case of Miss Silvester. Let us return to the question which I asked you when we first came into the room. Do

you see the connection, now, between that question, and what I have said since?"

Arnold was slow to see the connection. His mind was running on Sir Patrick's discovery. Little dreaming that

he was indebted to Mrs. Inchb are's incomplete description of him for his own escape from detection, he was

wondering how it had happened that he had remained unsuspected, while Geoffrey's position had been (in

"I asked you," resumed Sir Patrick, attempting to help him, "why the mere report that your friend was likely

to marry Mrs. Glenarm roused your indignation, and you hesitated at giving an answer. Do you hesitate still?"

"Let us put it in another way. I assume that your view of the report takes its rise in some knowledge, on your

part, of Mr. Delamayn's private affairs, which the rest of us don't possess.Is that conclusion correct?"

"Is what you know about Mr. Delamayn connected with any thing that you know about Miss Silvester?"

If Arnold had felt himself at liberty to answer that question, Sir Patrick's suspicions would have been aroused,

and Sir Patrick's resolution would have forced a full disclosure from him before he left the house.

It was getting on to midnight. The first hour of the weddingday was at hand, as the Truth made its final

effort to struggle into light. The dark Phantoms of Trouble and Terror to come were waiting near them both at

that moment. Arnold hesitated againhesitated painfully. Sir Patrick paused for his answer. The clock in the

"I mean that Geoffrey and I have quarreled since he took me into his confidence. I am doubly bound to

"I have felt an inveterate distrust of Mr. Delamayn from the first," he said. "Answer me this. Have you any

reason to thinksince we first talked about your friend in the summerhouse at Windygatesthat my

"You have had very little experience of the world," proceeded Sir Patrick. "And you have just acknowledged

that you have had reason to distrust your experience of your friend. Are you quite sure that you are acting

wisely in keeping his secret from me? Are you quite sure that you will not repent the course you are taking

tonight?" He laid a marked emphasis on those last words. "Think, Arnold," he added, kindly. "Think before

"I feel bound in honor to keep his secret," said Arnold. "No thinking can alter that."

"There is nothing more to be said." With those words he gave Arnold his hand, and, pressing it cordially,

"The glass is at Set Fair, my darling," he whispered. "Goodnight for the last time!"

He took her in his arms, and kissed her. At the moment when he released her Blanche slipped a little note into

THE promise of the weatherglass was fulfilled. The sun shone on Blanche's marriage.

At nine in the morning the first of the proceedings of the day began. It was essentially of a clandestine nature.

The bride and bridegroom evaded the restraints of lawful authority, and presumed to meet together privately,

"Because I put off telling you so long; and because I didn't know how you might take it; and for fifty other

reasons. Never mind! I've made my confession. I haven't a single secret now which is not your secret too.

There's time to say No, Arnold, if you think I ought to have no room in my heart for any body but you. My

uncle tells me I am obstinate and wrong in refusing to give Anne up. If you agree with him, say the word,

"Yes. The confession (as you call it) which you make in your pretty note, is the very thing that Sir Patrick

spoke to me about in the diningroom before I went away. He told me your heart was set on finding Miss

Arnold repeated his answer to Sir Patrick, with fervid embellishments of the original language, suitable to the

emergency. Blanche's delight expressed itself in the form of two unblushing outrages on propriety, committed

in close succession. She threw her arms round Arnold's neck; and she actually kissed him three hours before

the consent of State and Church sanctioned her in taking that proceeding. Let us shudderbut let us not

"Now," said Arnold, "it's my turn to take to pen and ink. I have a letter to write before we are married as well

"To my lawyer in Edinburgh. There will be no time unless I do it now. We start for Switzerland this

"Very well. I want to relieve your mind, my darling before we go. Wouldn't you like to knowwhile we are

awaythat the right people are on the lookout for Miss Silvester? Sir Patrick has told me of the last place

that she has been traced toand my lawyer will set the right people at work. Come and help me to put it in

They audaciously penetrated, arm in arm, into Sir Patrick's own studyentirely at their disposal, as they well

knew, at that hour of the morning. With Sir Patrick's pens and Sir Patrick's paper they produced a letter of

instructions, deliberately reopening the investigation which Sir Patrick's superior wisdom had closed. Neither

pains nor money were to be spared by the lawyer in at once taking measures (beginning at Glasgow) to find

Anne. The report of the result was to be addressed to Arnold, under cover to Sir Patrick at Ham Farm. By the

time the letter was completed the morning had advanced to ten o'clock. Blanche left Arnold to array herself in

her bridal splendorafter another outrage on propriety, and more consequences of free institutions.

The next proceedings were of a public and avowable nature, and strictly followed the customary precedents

Village nymphs strewed flowers on the path to the church door (and sent in the bill the same day). Village

swains rang the joybells (and got drunk on their money the same evening). There was the proper and awful

pause while the bridegroom was kept waiting at the church. There was the proper and pitiless staring of all

the female spectators when the bride was led to the altar. There was the clergyman's preliminary look at the

licensewhich meant official caution. And there was the clerk's preliminary look at the bridegroomwhich

meant official fees. All the women appeared to be in their natural element; and all the men appeared to be out

Then the service beganrightlyconsidered, the most terrible, surely, of all mortal ceremoniesthe service

which binds two human beings, who know next to nothing of each other's natures, to risk the tremendous

experiment of living together till death parts themthe service which says, in effect if not in words, Take

The ceremony went on, without the slightest obstacle to mar its effect. There were no unforeseen

The last words were spoken, and the book was closed. They signed their names on the register; the husband

was congratulated; the wife was embraced. They went back aga in to the house, with more flowers strewn at

their feet. The weddingbreakfast was hurried; the weddingspeeches were curtailed: there was no time to be

In an hour more the carriage had whirled them away to the station, and the guests had given them the farewell

cheer from the steps of the house. Young, happy, fondly attached to each other, raised securely above all the

sordid cares of life, what a golden future was theirs! Married with the sanction of the Family and the blessing

of the Churchwho could suppose that the time was coming, nevertheless, when the blighting question

Two days after the marriageon Wednesday, the ninth of September a packet of letters, received at

With one exception, the letters were all addressed either to Sir Patrick or to his sisterinlaw. The one

exception was directed to "Arnold Brinkworth, Esq., care of Lady Lundie, Windygates House,

Noticing that the postmark was "Glasgow," Sir Patrick (to whom the letter had been delivered) looked with

a certain distrust at the handwriting on the address. It was not known to himbut it was obviously the

handwriting of a woman. Lady Lundie was sitting opposite to him at the table. He said, carelessly, "A letter

for Arnold"and pushed it across to her. Her ladyship took up the letter, and dropped it, the instant she

"The Person again!" exclaimed Lady Lundie. "The Person, presuming to address Arnold Brinkworth, at My

"No," said her ladyship, shutting her teeth with a snap. "The Person may insult me by addressing a letter to

my care. But the Person's name shall not pollute my lips. Not even in your house, Sir Patrick. Not even to

Sir Patrick was sufficiently answered. After all that had happenedafter her farewell letter to Blanchehere

was Miss Silvester writing to Blanche's husband, of her own accord! It was unaccountable, to say the least of

it. He took the letter back, and looked at it again. Lady Lundie's steward was a methodical man. He had

indorsed each letter received at Windygates with the date of its delivery. The letter addressed to Arnold had

It was pure waste of time to inquire. Sir Patrick rose to lock the letter up in one of the drawers of the

Sir Patrick smiled. On the long list of those respectable disguises under which we assert our own importance,

or gratify our own love of meddling in our neighbor's affairs, a moral regard for the welfare of others figures

"We shall probably hear from Arnold in a day or two," said Sir Patrick, locking the letter up in the drawer.

They reported themselves to be too supremely happy to care where they lived, so long as they lived together.

Every question but the question of Love was left in the competent hands of their courier. This sensible and

trustworthy man had decided that Paris was not to be thought of as a place of residence by any sane human

being in the month of September. He had arranged that they were to leave for Badenon their way to

Switzerlandon the tenth. Letters were accordingly to be addressed to that place, until further notice. If the

courier liked Baden, they would probably stay there for some time. If the courier took a fancy for the

mountains, they would in that case go on to Switzerland. In the mean while nothing mattered to Arnold but

Sir Patrick redirected Anne Silvester's letter to Arnold, at the Poste Restante, Baden. A second letter, which

had arrived that morning (addressed to Arnold in a legal handwriting, and bearing the postmark of

Two days later Ham Farm was deserted by the guests. Lady Lundie had gone back to Windygates. The rest

had separated in their different directions. Sir Patrick, who also contemplated returning to Scotland, remained

behind for a weeka solitary prisoner in his own country house. Accumulated arrears of business, with

which it was impossible for his steward to deal singlehanded, obliged him to remain at his estates in Kent

for that time. To a man without a taste for partridgeshooting the ordeal was a trying one. Sir Patrick got

through the day with the help of his business and his books. In the evening the rector of a neighboring parish

drove over to dinner, and engaged his host at the noble but obsolete game of Piquet. They arranged to meet at

each other's houses on alternate days. The rector was an admirable player; and Sir Patrick, though a born

Three more days passed. Business at Ham Farm began to draw to an end. The time for Sir Patrick's journey to

Scotland came nearer. The two partners at Piquet agreed to meet for a final game, on the next night, at the

rector's house. But (let us take comfort in remembering it) our superiors in Church and State are as

completely at the mercy of circumstances as the humblest and the poorest of us. That last game of Piquet

On the afternoon of the fourth day Sir Patrick came in from a drive, and found a letter from Arnold waiting

Judged by externals only, it was a letter of an unusually perplexingpossibly also of an unusually

interestingkind. Arnold was one of the last persons in the world whom any of his friends would have

suspected of being a lengthy correspondent. Here, nevertheless, was a letter from him, of three times the

customary bulk and weightand, apparently, of more than common importance, in the matter of news,

besides. At the top the envelope was marked "Immediate.." And at one side (also underlined) was the

Two inclosures fell out on the table. He looked at them for a moment. They were the two letters which he had

forwarded to Baden. The third letter remaining in his hand and occupying a double sheet, was from Arnold

himself. Sir Patrick read Arnold's letter first. It was dated "Baden," and it began as follows:

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

Sir Patrick looked up for a moment from the letter. Given a young man who dates from "Baden," and declares

himself to be in "a terrible mess," as representing the circumstances of the casewhat is the interpretation to

be placed on them? Sir Patrick drew the inevitable conclusion. Arnold had been gambling.

"I must say, dreadful as it is, that I am not to blamenor she either, poor thing."

Sir Patrick paused again. "She?" Blanche had apparently been gambling too? Nothing was wanting to

complete the picture but an announcement in the next sentence, presenting the courier as carried away, in his

"You can not, I am sure, expect me to have known the law. And as for poor Miss Silvester"

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

Sir Patrick had re ad the letter, thus far, standing up. A vague distrust stole over him at the appearance of

Miss Silvester's name in connection with the lines which had preceded it. He felt nothing approaching to a

clear prevision of what was to come. Some indescribable influence was at work in him, which shook his

nerves, and made him feel the infirmities of his age (as it seemed) on a sudden. It went no further than that.

"And, as for poor Miss Silvester, though she felt, as she reminds me, some misgivingsstill, she never could

have foreseen, being no lawyer either, how it was to end. I hardly know the best way to break it to you. I

can't, and won't, believe it myself. But even if it should be true, I am quite sure you will find a way out of it

for us. I will stick at nothing, and Miss Silvester (as you will see by her letter) will stick at nothing either, to

set things right. Of course, I have not said one word to my darling Blanche, who is quite happy, and suspects

nothing. All this, dear Sir Patrick, is very badly written, I am afraid, but it is meant to prepare you, and to put

the best side on matters at starting. However, the truth must be toldand shame on the Scotch law is what

I say. This it is, in short: Geoffrey Delamayn is even a greater scoundrel than you think him; and I bitterly

repent (as things have turned out) having held my tongue that night when you and I had our private talk at

Ham Farm. You will think I am mixing two things up together. But I am not. Please to keep this about

Geoffrey in your mind, and piece it together with what I have next to say. The worst is still to come. Miss

Silvester's letter (inclosed) tells me this terrible thing. You must know that I went to her privately, as

Geoffrey's messenger, on the day of the lawnparty at Windygates. Wellhow it could have happened,

Heaven only knowsbut there is reason to fear that I married her, without being aware of it myself, in

The letter dropped from Sir Patrick's hand. He sank back in the chair, stunned for the moment, under the

He rallied, and rose bewildered to his feet. He took a turn in the room. He stopped, and summoned his will,

and steadied himself by main force. He picked up the letter, and read the last sentence again. His face flushed.

He was on the point of yielding himself to a useless out burst of anger against Arnold, when his better sense

checked him at the last moment. "One fool in the family is, enough," he said. "My business in this dreadful

He waited once more, to make sure of his own composureand turned again to the letter, to see what the

Arnold had plenty to saywith the drawback of not knowing how to say it. It was hard to decide which

quality in his letter was most markedthe total absence of arrangement, or the total absence of reserve.

Without beginning, middle, or end, he told the story of his fatal connection with the troubles of Anne

Silvester, from the memorable day when Geoffrey Delamayn sent him to Craig Fernie, to the equally

memorable night when Sir Patrick had tried vainly to make him open his lips at Ham Farm.

"I own I have behaved like a fool," the letter concluded, "in keeping Geoffrey Delamayn's secret for himas

things have turned out. But how could I tell upon him without compromising Miss Silvester? Read her letter,

and you will see what she says, and how generously she releases me. It's no use saying I am sorry I wasn't

more cautious. The mischief is done. I'll stick at nothingas I have said beforeto undo it. Only tell me

what is the first step I am to take; and, as long as it don't part me from Blanche, rely on my taking it. Waiting

to hear from you, I remain, dear Sir Patrick, yours in great perplexity, Arnold Brinkworth."

Sir Patrick folded the letter, and looked at the two inclosures lying on the table. His eye was hard, his brow

was frowning, as he put his hand to take up Anne's letter. The letter from Arnold's agent in Edinburgh lay

It was short enough, and clearly enough written, to invite a reading before he put it down again. The lawyer

reported that he had made the necessary inquiries at Glasgow, with this result. Anne had been traced to The

Sheep's Head Hotel. She had lain there utterly helpless, from illness, until the beginning of September. She

had been advertised, without result, in the Glasgow newspapers. On the 5th of September she had sufficiently

recovered to be able to leave the hotel. She had been seen at the railway station on the same daybut from

that point all trace of her had been lost once more. The lawyer had accordingly stopped the proceedings, and

This letter was not without its effect in encouraging Sir Patrick to 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 friendless positionso plainly and so sadly revealed by the advertising in the

newspaperspleaded for merciful construction of faults committed, if faults there were. Gravely, but not

angrily, Sir Patrick opened her letterthe letter that cast a doubt on his niece's marriage.

"DEAR MR. BRINKWORTH,Nearly three weeks since I attempted to write to you from this place. I was

seized by sudden illness while I was engaged over my letter; and from that time to this I have laid helpless in

bedvery near, as they tell me, to death. I was strong enough to be dressed, and to sit up for a little while

yesterday and the day before. Today, I have made a better advance toward recovery. I can hold my pen and

control my thoughts. The first use to which I put this improvement is to write these lines.

"I am going (so far as I know) to surprisepossibly to alarmyou. There is no escaping from it, for you or

"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 your memory back to a day which we have both bitter reason to regretthe day when

"You may possibly not rememberit unhappily produced no impression on you at the timethat I felt, and

expressed, more than once on that occasion, a very great dislike to your passing me off on the people of the

inn as your wife. It was necessary to my being permitted to remain at Craig Fernie that you should do so. I

knew this; but still I shrank from it. It was impossible for me to contradict you, without involving you in the

painful consequences, and running the risk of making a scandal which might find its way to Blanche's ears. I

knew this also; but still my conscience reproached me. It was a vague feeling. I was quite unaware of the

actual danger in which you were placing yourself, or I would have spoken out, no matter what came of it. I

had what is called a presentiment that you were not acting discreetlynothing more. As I love and honor my

"A few days after you went away my anxieties grew more than I could bear alone. I went secretly to

"She was absent for a few minutes from the room in which we had met. In that interval I saw Geoffrey

Delamayn for the first time since I had left him at Lady Lundie's lawnparty. He treated me as if I was a

stranger. He told me that he had found out all that had passed between us at the inn. He said he had taken a

lawyer's opinion. Oh, Mr. Brinkworth! how can I break it to you? how can I write the words which repeat

what he said to me next? It must be done. Cruel as it is, it must be done. He refused to my face to marr y me.

"Now you know why I have referred you to what I felt (and confessed to feeling) when we were together at

Craig Fernie. If you think hard thoughts, and say hard words of me, I can claim no right to blame you. I am

"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 in the street as they go by. They are all strangers.

But, somehow, the sight of them seems to rest my mind. The hum of the great city gives me heart, and helps

"I can not trust myself to write of the man who has betrayed us both. Disgraced and broken as I am, there is

something still left in me which lifts me above him. If he came repentant, at this moment, and offered me all

that rank and wealth and worldly consideration can give, I would rather be what I am now than be his wife.

"I ought, no doubt, to have waited to see you at Windygates, and to have told you at once of what had

happened. But I was weak and ill and the shock of hearing what I heard fell so heavily on me that I fainted.

After I came to myself I was so horrified, when I thought of you and Blanche that a sort of madness

"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 I could do. I consulted two lawyers. They differed in opinion as to whether we were

married or notaccording to the law which decides on such things in Scotland. The first said Yes. The

second said Nobut advised me to write immediately and tell you the position in which you stood. I

"Thank God, the delay that has happened is of no consequence. I asked Blanche, at Windygates, when you

were to be marriedand she told me not until the end of the autumn. It is only the fifth of September now.

"Go at once to Sir Patrick Lundie, and show him this letter. Follow his adviceno matter how it may affect

me. I should ill requite your kindness, I should be false indeed to the love I bear to Blanche, if I hesitated to

brave any exposure that may now be necessary in your interests and in hers. You have been all that is

generous, all that is delicate, all that is kind in this matter. You have kept my disgraceful secretI am quite

sure of itwith the fidelity of an honorable man who has had a woman's reputation placed in his charge. I

release you, with my whole heart, dear Mr. Brinkworth, from your pledge. I entreat you, on my knees, to

consider yourself free to reveal the truth. I will make any acknowledgment, on my side, that is needful under

the circumstancesno matter how public it may be. Release yourself at any price; and then, and not till then,

give back your regard to the miserable woman who has laden you with the burden of her sorrow, and

"Pray don't think there is any painful sacrifice involved in this. The quieting of my own mind is involved in

"What has life left for me? Nothing but the barren necessity of living. When I think of the future now, my

mind passes over the years that may be left to me in this world. Sometimes I dare to hope that the Divine

Mercy of Christwhich once pleaded on earth for a woman like memay plead, when death has taken me,

for my spirit in Heaven. Sometimes I dare to hope that I may see my mother, and Blanche's mother, in the

better world. Their hearts were bound together as the hearts of sisters while they were here; 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 promised to be a

sister to Blanche! The debt I owe to her is the hereditary debt of my mother's gratitude. And what am I now?

An obstacle in the way of the happiness of her life. Sacrifice me to that happiness, for God's sake! It is the

one thing I have left to live for. Again and again I say itI care nothing for myself. I have no right to be

considered; I have no wish to be considered. Tell the whole truth about me, and call me to bear witness to it

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

"I can not think of any thing left but the duty of informing you how you may find me. if you wish to

"It is impossible for me to guess what you will do, or what you will be advised to do by others, when you get

my letter. I don't even know that you may not already have heard of what your position is from Geoffrey

Delamayn himself. In this event, or in the event of your thinking it desirable to take Blanche into your

confidence, I venture to suggest that you should appoint some person whom you can trust to see me on your

behalfor, if you can not do this that you should see me in the presence of a third person. The man who has

not hesitated to betray us both, will not hesitate to misrepresent us in the vilest way, if he can do it in the

future. For your own sake, let us be careful to give lying tongues no opportunity of assailing your place in

Blanche's estimation. Don't act so as to risk putting yourself in a false position again! Don't let it be possible

that a feeling unworthy of her should be roused in the loving and generous nature of your future wife!

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

"You will find on the slip of paper inclosed the name and address of the second of the two lawyers whom I

consulted in Glasgow. It is arranged between us that I am to inform him, by letter, of the next place to which I

remove, and that he is to communicate the information either to you or to Sir Patrick Lundie, on your

applying for it personally or by writing. I don't yet know myself where I may find refuge. Nothing is certain

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

"I have been informed that I was advertised in the Glasgow newspapers during the time when I lay at this

hotel, a stranger at the point of death. Trouble has perhaps made me morbidly suspicious. I am afraid of what

may happen if I stay here, after my place of residence has been made publicly known. So, as soon as I can

move, I go away in secret. It will be enough for me, if I can find rest and peace in some quiet place, in the

country round Glasgow. You need feel no anxiety about my means of living. I have money enough for all that

"I send no message to BlancheI dare not till this is over. Wait till she is your happy wife; and then give her

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

Something of the personal influence which Anne exercised more or less over all the men with whom she

came in contact seemed to communicate itself to the old lawyer through the medium of her letter. His

thoughts perversely wandered away from the serious and pressing question of his niece's position into a

region of purely speculative inquiry relating to Anne. What infatuation (he asked himself) had placed that

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

If we know any thing by experience, we know that women cast themselves away impulsively on unworthy

men, and that men ruin themselves headlong for unworthy w omen. We have the institution of Divorce

actually among us, existing mainly because the two sexes are perpetually placing themselves in these

anomalous relations toward each other. And yet, at every fresh instance which comes before us, we persist in

being astonished to find that the man and the woman have not chosen each other on rational and producible

grounds! We expect human passion to act on logical principles; and human fallibilitywith love for its

guideto be above all danger of making a mistake! Ask the wisest among Anne Silvester's sex what they

saw to rationally justify them in choosing the men to whom they have given their hearts and their lives, and

you will be putting a question to those wise women which they never once thought of putting to themselves.

Nay, more still. Look into your own experience, and say frankly, Could you justify your own excellent choice

at the time when you irrevocably made it? Could you have put your reasons on paper when you first owned to

yourself that you loved him? And would the reasons have borne critical inspection if you had?

Sir Patrick gave it up in despair. The interests of his niece were at stake. He wisely determined to rouse his

mind by occupying himself with the practical necessities of the moment. It was essential to send an apology

to the rector, in the first place, so as to leave the evening at his disposal for considering what preliminary

After writing a few lines of apology to his partner at Piquetassigning family business as the excuse for

breaking his engagementSir Patrick rang the bell. The faithful Duncan appeared, and saw at once in his

"Send a man with this to the Rectory," said Sir Patrick. "I can't dine out today. I must have a chop at home."

"I am afraid, Sir Patrickif I may be excused for remarking ityou 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

After thinking it over carefully, Sir Patrick decided that there was no alternative but to send a message to

Arnold and Blanche, summoning them back to England in the first place. The necessity of questioning

Arnold, in the minutest detail, as to every thing that had happened between Anne Silvester and himself at the

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 had happened. Sir Patrick met this difficulty with characteristic ingenuity and readiness of

"Your letter and inclosures received. Return to Ham Farm as soon as you conveniently can. Keep the thing

still a secret from Blanche. Tell her, as the reason for coming back, that the lost trace of Anne Silvester has

been recovered, and that there may be reasons for her returning to England before any thing further can be

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

Arnold would in all probability receive the telegram at Baden, on the next day, September the seventeenth. In

three days more he and Blanche might be expected to reach Ham Farm. During the interval thus placed at his

disposal Sir Patrick would have ample time in which to recover himself, and to see his way to acting for the

On the nineteenth Sir Patrick received a telegram informing him that he might expect to see the young couple

Late in the evening the sound of carriagewheels was audible on the drive; and Sir Patrick, opening the door

"In excellent time. You shall hear all about it tomorrow. Go and take off your travelingthings, and come

Blanche kissed him, and went on up stairs. She had, as her uncle thought in the glimpse he had caught of her,

been improved by her marriage. It had quieted and steadied her. There were graces in her look and manner

which Sir Patrick had not noticed before. Arnold, on his side, appeared to less advantage. He was restless and

anxious; his position with Miss Silvester seemed to be preying on his mind. As soon as his young wife's back

"I hardly dare ask you what I have got it on my mind to say," he began. "I must bear it if you are angry with

me, Sir Patrick. Butonly 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 composedly tonight," said Sir Patrick. "Be satisfied if I tell

Other persons concerned in the coming drama had had past difficulties to think out, and future movements to

consider, during the interval occupied by Arnold and Blanche on their return journey to England. Between

the seventeenth and the twentieth of September Geoffrey Delamayn had left Swanhaven, on the way to his

new training quarters in the neighborhood in which the FootRace at Fulham was to be run. Between the

same dates, also, Captain Newenden had taken the opportunity, while passing through London on his way

south, to consult his solicitors. The object of the conference was to find means of discovering an anonymous

letterwriter in Scotland, who had presumed to cause serious annoyance to Mrs. Glenarm.

Thus, by ones and twos, converging from widely distant quarters, they were now beginning to draw together,

in the near neighborhood of the great city which was soon destined to assemble them all, for the first and the

BREAKFAST was just over. Blanche, seeing a pleasantlyidle morning before her, proposed to Arnold to

The garden was blight with sunshine, and the bride was bright with goodhumor. She caught her uncle's eye,

looking at her admiringly, and paid him a little compliment in return. "You have no idea," she said, "how nice

"I am to understand then," rejoined Sir Patrick, "that I am forgiven for interrupting the honeymoon?"

"You are more than forgiven for interrupting it," said Blanche"you are thanked. As a married woman," she

proceeded, with the air of a matron of at least twenty years' standing, "I have been thinking the subject over;

and I have arrived at the conclusion that a honeymoon which takes the form of a tour on the Continent, is

one of our national abuses which stands in need of reform. When you are in love with each other (consider a

marriage without love to be no marriage at all), what do you want with the excitement of seeing strange

places? Isn't it excitement enough, and isn't it strange enough, to a newlymarried woman to see such a total

novelty as a husband? What is the most interesting object on the face of creation to a man in Arnold's

position? The Alps? Certainly not! The most interesting object is the wife. And the proper time for a bridal

tour is the timesay ten or a dozen years laterwhen you are beginning (not to get tired of each other, that's

out of the question) but to get a little too well used to each other. Then take your tour to Switzerlandand

you give the Alps a chance. A succession of honeymoon trips, in the autumn of married lifethere is my

proposal for an improvement on the present state of things! Come into the garden, Arnold; and let us

calculate how long it will be before we get weary of each other, and want the beauties of nature to keep us

Arnold looked appealingly to Sir Patrick. Not a word had passed between them, as yet, on the se rious subject

of Anne Silvester's letter. Sir Patrick undertook the responsibility of making the necessary excuses to

"Forgive me," he said, "if I ask leave to interfere with your monopoly of Arnold for a little while. I have

something to say to him about his property in Scotland. Will you leave him with me, if I promise to release

Blanche smiled graciously. "You shall have him as long as you like, uncle. There's your hat," she added,

tossing it to her husband, gayly. "I brought it in for you when I got my own. You will find me on the lawn."

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

"I will answer your last question first," said Sir Patrick. "Do I think you are to blame? Yesin this way. You

committed an act of unpardonable rashness when you consented to go, as Geoffrey Delamayn's messenger, to

Miss Silvester at the inn. Having once placed yourself in that false position, you could hardly have acted,

afterward, otherwise than you did. You could not be expected to know the Scotch law. And, as an honorable

man, you were bound to keep a secret confided to you, in which the reputation of a woman was concerned.

Your first and last error in this matter, was the fatal error of involving yourself in responsibilities which

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

"As to your other question," proceeded Sir Patrick. "Do I consider your position to be a serious one? Most

assuredly, I do! So long as we are not absolutely certain that Blanche is your lawful wife, the position is more

than serious: it is unendurable. I maintain the opinion, mind, out of which (thanks to your honorable silence)

that scoundrel Delamayn contrived to cheat me. I told him, what I now tell youthat your sayings and

doings at Craig Fernie, do not constitute a marriage, according to Scottish law. But," pursued Sir Patrick,

holding up a warning forefinger at Arnold, "you have read it in Miss Silvester's letter, and you may now take

it also as a result of my experience, that no individual opinion, in a matter of this kind, is to be relied on. Of

two lawyers, consulted by Miss Silvester at Glasgow, one draws a directly opposite conclusion to mine, and

decides that you and she are married. I believe him to be wrong, but in our situation, we have no other choice

than to boldly encounter the view of the case which he represents. In plain English, we must begin by looking

Arnold twisted the traveling hat which Blanche had thrown to him, nervously, in both hands. "Supposing the

"It is not easy to tell you," he said, "without entering into the legal aspect of the case. I shall only puzzle you

if I do that. Suppose we look at the matter in its social bearingsI mean, as it may possibly affect you and

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

"The children may present themselves," returned Sir Patrick, dryly, "for all that. Now listen. It may have

occurred to your mind that the plain way out of our present dilemma is for you and Miss Silvester,

respectively, to affirm what we know to be the truthnamely, that you never had the slightest intention of

marrying each other. Beware of founding any hopes on any such remedy as that! If you reckon on it, you

reckon without Geoffrey Delamayn. He is interested, remember, in proving you and Miss Silvester to be man

and wife. Circumstances may ariseI won't waste time in guessing at what they may bewhich will enable

a third person to produce the landlady and the waiter at Craig Fernie in evidence against youand to assert

that your declaration and Miss Silvester's declaration are the result of collusion between you two. Don't start!

Such things have happened before now. Miss Silvester is poor; and Blanche is rich. You may be made to

stand in the awkward position of a man who is denying his marriage with a poor woman, in order to establish

his marriage with an heiress: Miss Silvester presumably aiding the fraud, with two strong interests of her own

as inducementsthe interest of asserting the claim to be the wife of a man of rank, and the interest of

earning her reward in money for resigning you to Blanche. There is a case which a scoundrel might set

"The law will argue any thing, with any body who will pay the law for the use of its brains and its time. Let

that view of the matter alone now. Delamayn can set the case going, if he likes, without applying to any

lawyer to help him. He has only to cause a report to reach Blanche's ears which publicly asserts that she is not

your lawful wife. With her temper, do you suppose she would leave us a minute's peace till the matter was

cleared up? Or take it the other way. Comfort yourself, if you will, with the idea that this affair will trouble

nobody in the present. How are we to know it may not turn up in the future under circumstances which may

place the legitimacy of your children in doubt? We have a man to deal with who sticks at nothing. We have a

state of the law which can only be described as one scandalous uncertainty from beginning to end. And we

have two people (Bishopriggs and Mrs. Inchbare) who can, and will, speak to what took place between you

and Anne Silvester at the inn. For Blanche's sake, and for the sake of your unborn children, we must face this

matter on the spotand settle it at once and forever. The question before us now is this. Shall we open the

At that important point in the conversation they were interrupted by the reappearance of Blanche. Had she, by

No; it was the old story of most interruptions. Idleness that considers nothing, had come to look at Industry

that bears every thing. It is a law of nature, apparently, that the people in this world who have nothing to do

can not support the sight of an uninterrupted occupation in the hands of their neighbors. Blanche produced a

new specimen from Arnold's collection of hats. "I have been thinking about it in the garden," she said, quite

seriously. "Here is the brown one with the high crown. You look better in this than in the white one with the

low crown. I have come to change them, that's all." She changed the hats with Arnold, and went on, without

the faintest suspicion that she was in the way. "Wear the brown one when you come outand come soon,

dear. I won't stay an instant longer, uncleI wouldn't interrupt you for the world." She kissed her hand to Sir

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

"If I know any thing of female human nature," returned Sir Patrick, 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 weighty subject of the white hat and the brown. These little

interruptionsotherwise quite charmingraised a doubt in my mind. Wouldn't it be wise (I ask myself), if

we made a virtue of necessity, and took Blanche into the conversation? What do you say to calling her back

"My good fellow! at every step of this business there are difficulties in the way. Sooner or later, your wife

must know what has happened. The time for telling her is, no doubt, a matter for your decision, not mine. All

I say is this. Consider whether the disclosure won't come from you with a better grace, if you make it before

Arnold rose to his fee ttook a turn in the roomsat down againand looked at Sir Patrick, with the

"I don't know what to do," he said. "It beats me altogether. The truth is, Sir Patrick, I was fairly forced, at

Craig Fernie, into deceiving Blanchein what might seem to her a very unfeeling, and a very unpardonable

"I'll try and tell you. You remember when you went to the inn to see Miss Silvester? Well, being there

"I see! And, when Blanche came afterward, you were obliged to hide from Blanche, exactly as you had

"Worse even than that! A day or two later, Blanche took me into her confidence. She spoke to me of her visit

to the inn, as if I was a perfect stranger to the circumstances. She told me to my face, Sir Patrick, of the

invisible man who had kept so strangely out of her waywithout the faintest suspicion that I was the man.

And I never opened my lips to set her right! I was obliged to be silent, or I must have betrayed Miss Silvester.

Blanche's name had barely passed her husband's lips before Blanche herself verified Sir Patrick's prediction,

by reappearing at the open French window, with the superseded white hat in her hand.

"Haven't you done yet!" she exclaimed. "I am shocked, uncle, to interrupt you againbut these horrid hats of

Arnold's are beginning to weigh upon my mind. On reconsideration, I think the white hat with the low crown

is the most becoming of the two. Change again, dear. Yes! the brown hat is hideous. There's a beggar at the

gate. Before I go quite distracted, I shall give him the brown hat, and have done with the difficulty in that

manner. Am I very much in the way of business? I'm afraid I must appear restless? Indeed, I am restless. I

"I can tell you," said Sir Patrick, in his gravest and dryest manner. "You are suffering, Blanche, from a

malady which is exceedingly common among the young ladies of England. As a disease it is quite

Blanche dropped her uncle a smart little courtesy. "You might have told me I was in the way in fewer words

than that." She whisked round, kicked the disgraced brown hat out into the veranda before her, and left the

"Your position with your wife, Arnold," resumed Sir Patrick, returning gravely to the matter in hand, "is

certainly a difficult one." He paused, thinking of the evening when he and Blanche had illustrated the

vagueness of Mrs. Inchbare's description of the man at the inn, by citing Arnold himself as being one of the

hundreds of innocent people who answered to it! "Perhaps," he added, "the situation is even more difficult

than you suppose. It would have been certainly easier for youand it would have looked more honorable in

her estimationif you had made the inevitable confession before your marriage. I am, in some degree,

answerable for your not having done thisas well as for the far more serious dilemma with Miss Silvester in

which you now stand. If I had not innocently hastened your marriage with Blanche, Miss Silvester's

admirable letter would have reached us in ample time to prevent mischief. It's useless to dwell on that now.

Cheer up, Arnold! I am bound to show you the way out of the labyrinth, no matter what the difficulties may

He pointed to a table at the other end of the room, on which writing materials were placed. "I hate moving the

moment I have had my breakfast," he said. "We won't go into the library. Bring me the pen and ink here."

"That is the question before us which we have not settled yet. Before I decide, I want to be in possession of

the factsdown to the smallest detail of what took place between you and Miss Silvester at the inn. There is

only one way of getting at those facts. I am going to examine you as if I had you before me in the

With that preface, and with Arnold's letter from Baden in his hand as a brief to speak from, Sir Patrick put his

questions in clear and endless succession; and Arnold patiently and faithfully answered them all.

The examination proceeded uninterruptedly until it had reached that point in the progress of events at which

Anne had crushed Geoffrey Delamayn's letter in her hand, and had thrown it from her indignantly to the other

end of the room. There, for the first time, Sir Patrick dipped his pen in the ink, apparently intending to take a

note. "Be very careful here," he said; "I want to know every thing that you can tell me about that letter."

"The letter has been stolen by Bishopriggs," returned Sir Patrick, "and is in the possession of Bishopriggs at

"There were two letters written, on the same sheet of paper," said Arnold. "One of them was written by

Sir Patrick started. His face brightened; he made a hasty note. "Go on," he said, eagerly. "How came the

Arnold explained that Geoffrey, in the absence of any thing else to write his excuses on to Anne, had written

to her on the fourth or blank page of a letter which had been addressed to him by Anne herself.

Even Sir Patrick's carefully trained temper was not proof against this. "That is the most misplaced act of

delicacy I ever heard of in my life!" cried the old gentleman, warmly. "Never mind! it's useless to regret it

"It was so short," said Arnold, "that there is hardly any thing to repeat. As well as I remember, Geoffrey said

he was called away to London by his father's illness. He told Miss Silvester to stop where she was; and he

"Cudgel your brains, my good fellow! this is very important. Did he make no allusion to his engagement to

marry Miss Silvester at Craig Fernie? Didn't he try to pacify her by an apology of some sort?"

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

"Yes." Arnold's memory made a second effort, after he had given his second affirmative answer. "Wait a

little," he said. "I remember something else about the letter. It was not only dated. The time of day at which it

"I suggested it. The letter was so short I felt ashamed to deliver it as it stood. I told him to put the timeso as

to show her that he was obliged to write in a hurry. He put the time when the train started; and (I think) the

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

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

"I always suspected that lost letter to be an important document," he said"or Bishopriggs would never have

stolen it. We must get possession of it, Arnold, at any sacrifice. The first thing to be done (exactly as I

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

Sir Patrick and Arnold both looked up. This time Blanche had heard the last words that had passed between

them. She sat down at the table by Sir Patrick's side, and laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder.

"You are quite right, uncle," she said. "I am suffering this morning from the malady of having nothing to do.

"The person who knows Miss Silvester's address," he said, "is a lawyer in Glasgow. I am going to write to the

lawyer. When he sends us word where she isthen, Blanche, will be the time to employ your good offices in

He drew the writing materials once more with in his reach, and, suspending the remainder of Arnold's

Blanche pleaded hard for an occupation of some sort. "Can nobody give me something to do?" she asked.

"Glasgow is such a long way off, and waiting is such weary work. Don't sit there staring at me, Arnold! Can't

"If you want to write," he said, "you owe Lady Lundie a letter. It's three days since you heard from herand

"Yes," said Blanche. "It's quite true; I owe her a letter. And of course I ought to tell her we have come back to

The prospect of provoking Lady Lundie seemed to rouse Blanche s dormant energies. She took a sheet of her

Sir Patrick completed his communication to the lawyerafter a look at Blanche, which expressed any thing

rather than approval of her present employment. Having placed his completed note in the postbag, he silently

signed to Arnold to follow him into the garden. They went out together, leaving Blanche absorbed over her

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

Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuffand pointed with his ivory cane to the bees humming busily about the

"I'll show you the objection," he said. "Suppose Blanche told one of those inveterately intrusive insects that

the honey in the flowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to an enddo you think he

would take the statement for granted? No. He would plunge headforemost into the nearest flower, and

"Wellthere is Blanche in the breakfastroom telling Lady Lundie that the bridal tour happens, through an

unexpected accident, to have come to an end. Do you think Lady Lundie is the sort of person to take the

statement for granted? Nothing of the sort! Lady Lundie, like the bee, will insist on investigating for herself.

How it will end, if she discovers the truthand what new complications she may not introduce into a matter

which, Heaven knows, is complicated enough alreadyI leave you to imagine. My poor powers of prevision

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

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

THE letters to Lady Lundie and to Mr. Crum having been dispatched on Monday, the return of the post might

Sir Patrick and Arnold held more than one private consultation, during the interval, on the delicate and

difficult subject of admitting Blanche to a knowledge of what had happened. The wise elder advised and the

inexperienced junior listened. "Think of it," said Sir Patrick; "and do it." And Arnold thought of itand left

Let those who feel inclined to blame him remember that he had only been married a fortnight. It is hard,

surely, after but two weeks' possession of your wife, to appear before her in the character of an offender on

trialand to find that an angel of retribution has been thrown into the bargain by the liberal destiny which

They were all three at home on the Wednesday afternoon, looking out for the postman.

The correspondence delivered included (exactly as Sir Patrick had foreseen) a letter from Lady Lundie.

Further investigation, on the far more interesting subject of the expected news from Glasgow,

revealednothing. The lawyer had not answered Sir Patrick's inquiry by return of post.

"It is a sign that something has happened," answered her uncle. "Mr. Crum is possibly expecting to receive

some special information, and is waiting on the chance of being able to communicate it. We must hope, my

"Open Lady Lundie's letter in the mean time," said Blanche. "Are you sure it is for youand not for me?"

There was no doubt about it. Her ladyship's reply was ominously addressed to her ladyship's brotherinlaw.

"I know what that means." said Blanche, eying her uncle eagerly while he was reading the letter. "If you

mention Anne's name you insult my stepmother. I have mentioned it freely. Lady Lundie is mortally

Rash judgment of youth! A lady who takes a dignified attitude, in a family emergency, is never mortally

offendedshe is only deeply grieved. Lady Lundie took a dignified attitude. "I well know," wrote this

estimable and Christian woman, "that I have been all along regarded in the light of an intruder by the family

connections of my late beloved husband. But I was hardly prepared to find myself entirely shut out from all

domestic confidence, at a time when some serious domestic catastrophe has but too evidently taken place. I

have no desire, dear Sir Patrick, to intrude. Feeling it, however, to be quite inconsistent with a due regard for

my own positionafter what has happenedto correspond with Blanche, I address myself to the head of the

family, purely in the interests of propriety. Permit me to ask whetherunder circumstances which appear to

be serious enough to require the recall of my stepdaughter and her husband from their wedding touryou

think it DECENT to keep the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie entirely in the dark? Pray consider

thisnot at all out of regard for Me!but out of regard for your own position with Society. Curiosity is, as

you know, foreign to my nature. But when this dreadful scandal (whatever it may be) comes outwhich,

dear Sir Patrick, it can not fail to dowhat will the world think, when it asks for Lady Lundie's, opinion, and

hears that Lady Lundie knew nothing about it? Whichever way you may decide I shall take no offense. I may

possibly be woundedbut that won't matter. My little round of duties will find me still earnest, still cheerful.

And even if you shut me out, my best wishes will find their way, nevertheless, to Ham Farm. May I

addwithout encountering a sneerthat the prayers of a lonely woman are offered for the welfare of all?"

"You have your stepmother's best wishes, my dear." Having answered in those terms, he bowed to his niece

"Do I think it decent," he repeated to himself, as he closed the door, "to leave the widow of the late Sir

Thomas Lundie in the dark? When a lady's temper is a little ruffled, I think it more than decent, I think it

absolutely desirable, to let that lady have the last word." He went into the library, and dropped his

sisterinlaw's remonstrance into a box, labeled "Unanswered Letters." Having got rid of it in that way, he

hummed his favorite little Scotch airand put on his hat, and went out to sun himself in the garden.

Meanwhile, Blanche was not quite satisfied with Sir Patrick's reply. She appealed to her husband. "There is

Arnold could have desired no better opportunity than she had offered to him, in those words, for making the

longdeferred disclosure to her of the truth. He lifted his eyes to Blanche's face. By an unhappy fatality she

was looking charmingly that morning. How would she look if he told her the story of the hiding at the inn?

The next day's post brought not only the anticipated letter from Mr. Crum, but an unexpected Glasgow

This time Blanche had no reason to complain that her uncle kept his correspondence a secret from her. After

reading the lawyer's letter, with an interest and agitation which showed that the contents had taken him by

surprise, he handed it to Arnold and his niece. "Bad news there," he said. "We must share it together."

After acknowledging the receipt of Sir Patrick's letter of inquiry, Mr. Crum began by stating all that he knew

of Miss Silvester's movementsdating from the time when she had left the Sheep's Head Hotel. About a

fortnight since he had received a letter from her informing him that she had found a suitable place of

residence in a village near Glasgow. Feeling a strong interest in Miss Silvester, Mr. Crum had visited her

some few days afterward. He had satisfied himself that she was lodging with respectable people, and was as

comfortably situated as circumstances would permit. For a week more he had heard nothing from the lady. At

the expiration of that time he had received a letter from her, telling him that she had read something in a

Glasgow newspaper, of that day's date, which seriously concerned herself, and which would oblige her to

travel northward immediately as fast as her strength would permit. At a later period, when she would be more

certain of her own movements, she engaged to write again, and let Mr. Crum know where he might

communicate with her if necessary. In the mean time, she could only thank him for his kindness, and beg him

to take care of any letters or messages which might be left for her. Since the receipt of this communication

the lawyer had heard nothing further. He had waited for the morning's post in the hope of being able to report

that he had received some further intelligence. The hope had not been realized. He had now stated all that he

knew himself thus farand he had forwarded a copy of the newspaper alluded to by Miss Silvester, on the

chance that an examination of it by Sir Patrick might possibly lead to further discoveries. In conclusion, he

Blanche snatched up the newspaper, and opened it. "Let me look!" she said. "I can find what Anne saw here

She ran her eye eagerly over column after column and page after pageand dropped the newspaper on her

"Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Nothing any where, that I can see, to interest Anne. Nothing to interest any

bodyexcept Lady Lundie," she went on, brushing the newspaper off her lap. "It turns out to be all true,

"What!" cried Arnold; the idea instantly flashing on him that this was the news which Anne had seen.

Sir Patrick gave him a warning look, and picked up the newspaper from the floor.

"I may as well run through it, Blanche, and make quite sure that you have missed nothing," he said.

The report to which Blanche had referred was among the paragraphs arranged under the heading of

"Fashionable News." "A matrimonial alliance" (the Glasgow journal announced) "was in prospect between

the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn and the lovely and accomplished relict of the late Mathew Glenarm, Esq.,

formerly Miss Newenden." The, marriage would, in all probability, "be solemnized in Scotland, before the

end of the present autumn;" and the wedding breakfast, it was whispered, "would collect a large and

Sir Patrick handed the newspaper silently to Arnold. It was plain to any one who knew Anne Silvester's story

that those were the words which had found their fatal way to her in her place of rest. The inference that

followed seemed to be hardly less clear. But one intelligible object, in the opinion of Sir Patrick, could be at

the end of her journey to the north. The deserted woman had rallied the last relics of her old energyand had

devoted herself to the desperate purpose of stopping the marriage of Mrs. Glenarm.

"It seems like a fatality," she said. "Perpetual failure! Perpetual disappointment! Are Anne and I doomed

She looked at her uncle. Sir Patrick showed none of his customary cheerfulness in the face of disaster.

"She has promised to write to Mr. Crum," he said. "And Mr. Crum has promised to let us know when he

hears from her. That is the only prospect before us. We must accept it as resignedly as we can."

Blanche wandered out listlessly among the flowers in the conservatory. Sir Patrick made no secret of the

impression produced upon him by Mr. Crum's letter, when he and Arnold were left alone.

"There is no denying," he said, "that matters have taken a very serious turn. My plans and calculations are all

thrown out. It is impossible to foresee what new mischief may not come of it, if those two women meet; or

what desperate act Delamayn may not commit, if he finds himself driven to the wall. As things are, I own

frankly I don't know what to do next. A great light of the Presbyterian Church," he added, with a momentary

outbreak of his whimsical humor, "once declared, in my hearing, that the invention of printing was nothing

more or less than a proof of the intellectual activity of the Devil. Upon my honor, I feel for the first time in

He mechanically took up the Glasgow journal, which Arnold had laid aside, while he spoke.

"What's this!" he exclaimed, as a name caught his eye in the first line of the newspaper at which he happened

to look. "Mrs. Glenarm again! Are they turning the ironmaster's widow into a public character?"

There the name of the widow was, unquestionably; figuring for the second time in type, in a letter of the

gossiping sort, supplied by an "Occasional Correspondent," and distinguished by the title of "Sayings and

Doings in the North." After tattling pleasantly of the prospects of the shooting season, of the fashions from

Paris, of an accident to a tourist, and of a scandal in the Scottish Kirk, the writer proceeded to the narrative of

a case of interest, relating to a marriage in the sphere known (in the language of footmen) as the sphere of

Considerable sensation (the correspondent announced) had been caused in Perth and its neighborhood, by the

exposure of an anonymous attempt at extortion, of which a lady of distinction had lately been made the

object. As her name had already been publicly mentioned in an application to the magistrates, there could be

no impropriety in stating that the lady in question was Mrs. Glenarmwhose approaching union with the

Mrs. Glenarm had, it appeared, received an anonymous letter, on the first day of her arrival as guest at the

house of a friend, residing in the neighborhood of Perth. The letter warned her that there was an obstacle, of

which she was herself probably not aware, in the way of her projected marriage with Mr. Geoffrey

Delamayn. That gentleman had seriously compr omised himself with another lady; and the lady would

oppose his marriage to Mrs. Glenarm, with proof in writing to produce in support of her claim. The proof was

contained in two letters exchanged between the parties, and signed by their names; and the correspondence

First, that she should offer a sufficiently liberal price to induce the present possessor of the letters to part with

them. Secondly, that she should consent to adopt such a method of paying the money as should satisfy the

person that he was in no danger of finding himself brought within reach of the law. The answer to these two

proposals was directed to be made through the medium of an advertisement in the local

Certain turns of expression, and one or two mistakes in spelling, pointed to this insolent letter as being, in all

probability, the production of a Scotchman, in the lower ranks of life. Mrs. Glenarm had at once shown it to

her nearest relative, Captain Newenden. The captain had sought legal advice in Perth. It had been decided,

after due consideration, to insert the advertisement demanded, and to take measures to entrap the writer of the

letter into revealing himselfwithout, it is needless to add, allowing the fellow really to profit by his

The cunning of the "Friend in the Dark" (whoever he might be) had, on trying the proposed experiment,

proved to be more than a match for the lawyers. He had successfully eluded not only the snare first set for

him, but others subsequently laid. A second, and a third, anonymous letter, one more impudent than the other

had been received by Mrs. Glenarm, assuring that lady and the friends who were acting for her that they were

only wasting time and raising the price which would be asked for the correspondence, by the course they

were taking. Captain Newenden had thereupon, in default of knowing what other course to pursue, appealed

publicly to the city magistrates, and a reward had been offered, under the sanction of the municipal

authorities, for the discovery of the man. This proceeding also having proved quite fruitless, it was

understood that the captain had arranged, with the concurrence of his English solicitors, to place the matter in

Here, so far as the newspaper correspondent was aware, the affair rested for the present.

It was only necessary to add, that Mrs. Glenarm had left the neighborhood of Perth, in order to escape further

annoyance; and had placed herself under the protection of friends in another part of the county. Mr. Geoffrey

Delamayn, whose fair fame had been assailed (it was needless, the correspondent added in parenthesis, to say

how groundlessly), was understood to have expressed, not only the indignation natural under the

circumstances but also his extreme regret at not finding himself in a position to aid Captain Newenden's

efforts to bring the anonymous slanderer to justice. The honorable gentleman was, as the sporting public were

well aware, then in course of strict training for his forthcoming appearance at the Fulham FootRace. So

important was it considered that his mind should not be harassed by annoyances, in his present responsible

position, that his trainer and his principal backers had thought it desirable to hasten his removal to the

neighborhood of Fulhamwhere the exercises which were to prepare him for the race were now being

"Quite the contrary," returned Sir Patrick, briskly. "The mystery is clearing fastthanks to the Glasgow

newspaper. I shall be spared the trouble of dealing with Bishopriggs for the stolen letter. Miss Silvester has

"Do you think she would recognize it," said Arnold, pointing to the newspaper, "in the account given of it

"Certainly! And she could hardly fail, in my opinion, to get a step farther than that. Unless I am entirely

"In this way, as I think. Whatever she may have previously thought, she must suspect, by this time, that the

missing correspondence has been stolen, and not lost. Now, there are only two persons whom she can think

of, as probably guilty of the theftMrs. Inchbare or Bishopriggs. The newspaper description of the style of

the anonymous letters declares it to be the style of a Scotchman in the lower ranks of lifein other words,

points plainly to Bishopriggs. You see that? Very well. Now suppose she recovers the stolen property. What

is likely to happen then? She will be more or less than woman if she doesn't make her way next, provided

with her proofs in writing, to Mrs. Glenarm. She may innocently help, or she may innocently frustrate, the

end we have in vieweither way, our course is clear before us again. Our interest in communicating with

Miss Silvester remains precisely the same interest that it was before we received the Glasgow newspaper. I

propose to wait till Sunday, on the chance that Mr. Crum may write again. If we don't hear from him, I shall

start for Scotland on Monday morning, and take my chance of finding my way to Miss Silvester, through

"Leaving you behind. Somebody must stay with Blanche. After having only been a fortnight married, must I

"It will be such a fortunate circumstance for us, if he does write, that I don't venture to anticipate it."

"I detest slang, Arnold. But slang, I own, expresses my state of mind, in this instance, with an accuracy which

"Every body's luck turns sooner or later," persisted Arnold. "I can't help thinking our luck is on the turn at

"Apply at the stables. I leave betting, as I leave cleaning the horses, to my groom."

The hours passed, and time brought the post again in due courseand the post decided in Arnold's favor! Sir

Patrick's want of confidence in the favoring patronage of Fortune was practically rebuked by the arrival of a

"I have the pleasure of announcing" (Mr. Crum wrote) "that I have heard from Miss Silvester, by the next

postal delivery ensuing, after I had dispatched my letter to Ham Farm. She writes, very briefly, to inform me

that she has decided on establishing her next place of residence in London. The reason assigned for taking

this stepwhich she certainly did not contemplate when I last saw heris that she finds herself approaching

the end of her pecuniary resources. Having already decided on adopting, as a means of living, the calling of a

concertsinger, she has arranged to place her interests in the hands of an old friend of her late mother (who

appears to have belonged also to the musical profession): a dramatic and musical agent long established in the

metropolis, and well known to her as a trustworthy and respectable man. She sends me the name and address

of this persona copy of which you will find on the inclosed slip of paperin the event of my having

occasion to write to her, before she is settled in London. This is the whole substance of her letter. I have only

to add, that it does not contain the slightest allusion to the nature of the errand on which she left Glasgow."

His first proceeding, after reading it, was to consult the railway timetable hanging in the hall. Having done

this, he returned to the librarywrote a short note of inquiry, addressed to the musical agentand rang the

"Miss Silvester is expected in London, Duncan. I want a discreet person to communicate with her. You are

"If you start at once you will be in time to catch the train. Go to that address, and inquire for Miss Silvester. If

she has arrived, give her my compliments, and say I will have the honor of calling on her (on Mr.

Brinkworth's behalf) at the earliest date which she may find it convenient to appoint. Be quick about itand

you will have time to get back before the last train. Have Mr. and Mrs. Brinkworth returned from their

Pending the return of Arnold and Blanche, Sir Patrick looked at Mr. Crum's letter for the second time.

He was not quite satisfied that the pecuniary motive was really the motive at the bottom of Anne's journey

south. Remembering that Geoffrey's trainers had removed him to the neighborhood of London, he was

inclined to doubt whether some serious quarrel had not taken place between Anne and Mrs. Glenarmand

whether some direct appeal to Geoffrey himself might not be in contemplation as the result. In that event, Sir

Patrick's advice and assistance would be placed, without scruple, at Miss Silvester's disposal. By asserting her

claim, in opposition to the claim of Mrs. Glenarm, she was also asserting herself to be an unmarried woman,

and was thus serving Blanche's interests as well as her own. "I owe it to Blanche to help her," thought Sir

Patrick. "And I owe it to myself to bring Geoffrey Delamayn to a day of reckoning if I can."

The barking of the dogs in the yard announced the return of the carriage. Sir Patrick went out to meet Arnold

Punctual to the time at which he was expected, the discreet Duncan reappeared with a note from the musical

Miss Silvester had not yet reached London; but she was expected to arrive not later than Tuesday in the

ensuing week. The agent had already been favored with her instructions to pay the strictest attention to any

commands received from Sir Patrick Lundie. He would take care that Sir Patrick's message should be given

At last, then, there was news to be relied on! At last there was a prospect of seeing her! Blanche was radiant

with happiness, Arnold was in high spirits for the first time since his return from Baden.

Sir Patrick tried hard to catch the infection of gayety from his young friends; but, to his own surprise, not less

than to theirs, the effort proved fruitless. With the tide of events turning decidedly in his favorrelieved of

the necessity of taking a doubtful journey to Scotland; assured of obtaining his interview with Anne in a few

"Still down on our luck!" exclaimed Arnold, as he and his host finished their last game of billiards, and parted

for the night. "Surely, we couldn't wish for a more promising prospect than our prospect next week?"

"Let us look indulgently together," he said, in his whimsically grave way, "at the humiliating spectacle of an

old man's folly. I feel, at this moment, Arnold, as if I would give every thing that I possess in the world to

"There is the folly! I can't tell why. With every reason to be in better spirits than usual, I am unaccountably,

irrationally, invincibly depressed. What are we to conclude from that? Am I the object of a supernatural

warning of misfortune to come? Or am I the object of a temporary derangement of the functions of the liver?

There is the question. Who is to decide it? How contemptible is humanity, Arnold, rightly understood! Give

ON a certain evening in the month of September (at that period of the month when Arnold and Blanche were

traveling back from Baden to Ham Farm) an ancient manwith one eye filmy and blind, and one eye moist

and merrysat alone in the pantry of the Harp of Scotland Inn, Perth, pounding the sugar softly in a glass of

whiskypunch. He has hitherto been personally distinguished in these pages as the selfappointed father of

Anne Silvester and the humble servant of Blanche at the dance at Swanhaven Lodge. He now dawns on the

view in amicable relations with a third ladyand assumes the mystic character of Mrs. Glenarm's "Friend in

Arriving in Perth the day after the festivities at Swanhaven, Bishopriggs proceeded to the Harp of

Scotlandat which establishment for the reception of travelers he possessed the advantage of being known

to the landlord as Mrs. Inchbare's righthand man, and of standing high on the headwaiter's list of old and

Inquiring for the waiter first by the name of Thomas (otherwise Tammy) Pennyquick, Bishopriggs found his

friend in sore distress of body and mind. Contending vainly against the disabling advances of rheumatism,

Thomas Pennyquick ruefully contemplated the prospect of being laid up at home by a long illnesswith a

wife and children to support, and with the emoluments attached to his position passing into the pockets of the

Hearing this doleful story, Bishopriggs cunningly saw his way to serving his own private interests by

He forthwith offered to fill the place, without taking the emoluments, of the invalided headwaiteron the

understanding, as a matter of course, that the landlord consented to board and lodge him free of expense at

the inn. The landlord having readily accepted this condition, Thomas Pennyquick retired to the bosom of his

family. And there was Bishopriggs, doubly secured behind a respectable position and a virtuous action

against all likelihood of suspicion falling on him as a stranger in Perthin the event of his correspondence

with Mrs. Glenarm being made the object of legal investigation on the part of her friends!

Having opened the campaign in this masterly manner, the same sagacious foresight had distinguished the

His correspondence with Mrs. Glenarm was invariably written with the left handthe writing thus produced

defying detection, in all cases, as bearing no resemblance of character whatever to writing produced by

persons who habitually use the other hand. A no less farsighted cunning distinguished his proceedings in

answering the advertisements which the lawyers duly inserted in the newspaper. He appointed hours at which

he was employed on businesserrands for the inn, and places which lay on the way to those errands, for his

meetings with Mrs. Glenarm's representatives: a password being determined on, as usual in such cases, by

exchanging which the persons concerned could discover each other. However carefully the lawyers might set

the snarewhether they had their necessary "witness" disguised as an artist sketching in the neighborhood,

or as an old woman selling fruit, or what notthe wary eye of Bishopriggs detected it. He left the password

unspoken; he went his way on his errand; he was followed on suspicion; and he was discovered to be only "a

respectable person," charged with a message by the landlord of the Harp of Scotland Inn!

To a man intrenched behind such precautions as these, the chance of being detected might well be reckoned

Discovery was, nevertheless, advancing on Bishopriggs from a quarter which had not been included in his

calculations. Anne Silvester was in Perth; forewarned by the newspaper (as Sir Patrick had guessed) that the

letters offered to Mrs. Glenarm were the letters between Geoffrey and herself, which she had lost at Craig

Fernie, and bent on clearing up the suspicion which pointed to Bishopriggs as the person who was trying to

turn the correspondence to pecuniary account. The inquiries made for him, at Anne's request, as soon as she

arrived in the town, openly described his name, and his former position as headwaiter at Craig Fernieand

thu s led easily to the discovery of him, in his publicly avowed character of Thomas Pennyquick's devoted

friend. Toward evening, on the day after she reached Perth, the news came to Anne that Bishopriggs was in

service at the inn known as the Harp of Scotland. The landlord of the hotel at which she was staying inquired

whether he should send a message for her. She answered, "No, I will take my message myself. All I want is a

Secluded in the solitude of the headwaiter's pantry, Bishopriggs sat peacefully melting the sugar in his

It was the hour of the evening at which a period of tranquillity generally occurred before what was called "the

nightbusiness" of the house began. Bishopriggs was accustomed to drink and meditate daily in this interval

of repose. He tasted the punch, and smiled contentedly as he set down his glass. The prospect before him

looked fairly enough. He had outwitted the lawyers in the preliminary negotiations thus far. All that was

needful now was to wait till the terror of a public scandal (sustained by occasional letters from her "Friend in

the Dark") had its due effect on Mrs. Glenarm, and hurried her into paying the purchasemoney for the

correspondence with her own hand. "Let it breed in the brain," he thought, "and the siller will soon come out

His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a slovenly maidservant, with a cotton handkerchief

"Eh, Maister Bishopriggs," cried the girl, "here's a braw young leddy speerin' for ye by yer ain name at the

"A leddy?" repeated Bishopriggs, with a look of virtuous disgust. "Ye donnert ne'erdoweel, do you come

to a decent, 'sponsible man like me, wi' sic a Cyprian overture as that? What d'ye tak' me for? Mark Antony

that lost the world for love (the mair fule he!)? or Don Jovanny that counted his concubines by hundreds, like

the blessed Solomon himself? Awa' wi' ye to yer pots and pans; and bid the wandering Venus that sent ye go

Before the girl could answer she was gently pulled aside from the doorway, and Bishopriggs, thunderstruck,

"You had better tell the servant I am no stranger to you," said Anne, looking toward the kitchenmaid, who

"My ain sister's child!" cried Bishopriggs, lying with his customary readiness. "Go yer ways, Maggie. The

bonny lassie's my ain kith and kin. The tongue o' scandal, I trow, has naething to say against that.Lord save

us and guide us!" he added In another tone, as the girl closed the door on them, "what brings ye here?"

"I have something to say to you. I am not very well; I must wait a little first. Give me a chair."

Bishopriggs obeyed in silence. His one available eye rested on Anne, as he produced the chair, with an

uneasy and suspicious attention. "I'm wanting to know one thing," he said. "By what meeraiculous means,

Anne told him how her inquiries had been made and what the result had been, plainly and frankly. The

"Hech! hech!" he exclaimed, recovering all his native impudence, "I hae had occasion to remark already, to

anither leddy than yersel', that it's seemply mairvelous hoo a man's ain gude deeds find him oot in this lower

warld o' ours. I hae dune a gude deed by pure Tammy Pennyquick, and here's a' Pairth ringing wi the report o'

it; and Sawmuel Bishopriggs sae weel known that ony stranger has only to ask, and find him. Understand, I

beseech ye, that it's no hand o' mine that pets this new feather in my cap. As a gude Calvinist, my saul's clear

o' the smallest figment o' belief in Warks. When I look at my ain celeebrity I joost ask, as the Psawmist asked

before me, 'Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?' It seems ye've something to say

to me," he added, suddenly reverting to the object of Anne's visit. "Is it humanly possible that ye can ha'

The expression of suspicion began to show itself again in his face. Concealing as she best might the disgust

that he inspired in her, Anne stated her errand in the most direct manner, and in the fewest possible words.

Even the solidlyfounded selfpossession of Bishopriggs himself was shaken by the startling directness of

that attack on it. His glib tongue was paralyzed for the moment. "I dinna ken what ye're drivin' at," he said,

after an interval, with a sullen consciousness that he had been all but tricked into betraying himself.

The change in his manner convinced Anne that she had found in Bishopriggs the person of whom she was in

"You have got my letter," she said, sternly insisting on the truth. "And you are trying to turn it to a

disgraceful use. I won't allow you to make a market of my private affairs. You have offered a letter of mine

for sale to a stranger. I insist on your restoring it to me before I leave this room!"

Bishopriggs hesitated again. His first suspicion that Anne had been privately instructed by Mrs. Glenarm's

lawyers returned to his mind as a suspicion confirmed. He felt the vast importance of making a cautious

"I'll no' waste precious time," he said, after a moment's consideration with himself, "in brushing awa' the

fawse breath o' scandal, when it passes my way. It blaws to nae purpose, my young leddy, when it blaws on

an honest man like me. Fie for shame on ye for saying what ye've joost saidto me that was a fether to ye at

Craig Fernie! Wha' set ye on to it? Will it be man or woman that's misca'ed me behind my back?"

Anne took the Glasgow newspaper from the pocket of her traveling cloak, and placed it before him, open at

"May a' the tribe o' editors, preenters, papermakers, newsvendors, and the like, bleeze together in the pit o'

Tophet!" With this devout aspirationinternally felt, not openly utteredBishopriggs put on his spectacles,

and read the passage pointed out to him. "I see naething here touching the name o' Sawmuel Bishopriggs, or

the matter o' ony loss ye may or may not ha' had at Craig Fernie," he said, when he had done; still defending

Anne's pride recoiled at the prospect of prolonging the discussion with him. She rose to her feet, and said her

"I have learned enough by this time," she answered, "to know that the one argument that prevails with you is

the argument of money. If money will spare me the hateful necessity of disputing with youpoor as I am,

money you shall have. Be silent, if you please. You are personally interested in what I have to say next."

"If you choose to own the truth, and produce the letter," she resumed, "I will give you this, as your reward for

finding, and restoring to me, something that I had lost. If you persist in your present prevarication, I can, and

will, make that sheet of notepaper you have stolen from me nothing but waste paper in your hands. You

have threatened Mrs. Glenarm with my interference. Suppose I go to Mrs. Glenarm? Suppose I interfere

before the week is out? Suppose I have other letters of Mr. Delamayn's in my possession, and produce them

to speak for me? What has Mrs. Glenarm to purchase of you then? Answer me that!"

The color rose on her pale face. Her eyes, dim and weary when she entered the room, looked him brightly

through and through in immeasurable contempt. "Answer me that!" she repeated, with a burst of her old

energy which revealed the fire and passion of the woman's nature, not quenched even yet!

If Bishopriggs had a merit, it was a rare merit, as men go, of knowing when he was beaten. If he had an

accomplis hment, it was the accomplishment of retiring defeated, with all the honors of war.

"Mercy presairve us!" he exclaimed, in the most innocent manner. "Is it even You Yersel' that writ the letter

to the man ca'ed Jaffray Delamayn, and got the wee bit answer in pencil on the blank page? Hoo, in Heeven's

name, was I to know that was the letter ye were after when ye cam' in here? Did ye ever tell me ye were

Anne Silvester, at the hottle? Never ance! Was the puir feckless husbandcreature ye had wi' ye at the inn,

Jaffray Delamayn? Jaffray wad mak' twa o' him, as my ain eyes ha' seen. Gi' ye back yer letter? My certie!

He opened his pocketbook, and took it out, with an alacrity worthy of the honestest man in

Christendomand (more wonderful still) he looked with a perfectly assumed expression of indifference at

"Hoot! toot!" he said, "I'm no' that clear in my mind that I'm free to tak' yer money. Eh, weel! weel! I'll een

receive it, if ye like, as a bit Memento o' the time when I was o' some sma' sairvice to ye at the hottle. Ye'll

no' mind," he added, suddenly returning to business, "writin' me joost a linein the way o' receipt, ye

Anne threw down the banknote on the table near which they were standing, and snatched the letter from

"You need no receipt," she answered. "There shall be no letter to bear witness against you!"

She lifted her other hand to tear it in pieces. Bishopriggs caught her by both wrists, at the same moment, and

"Bide a wee!" he said. "Ye don't get the letter, young madam, without the receipt. It may be a' the same to

you, now ye've married the other man, whether Jaffray Delamayn ance promised ye fair in the bygone time,

or no. But, my certie! it's a matter o' some moment to me, that ye've chairged wi' stealin' the letter, and

making a market o't, and Lord knows what besides, that I suld hae yer ain acknowledgment for it in black and

Anne's hold of the letter relaxed. She let Bishopriggs repossess himself of it as it dropped on the floor

"It may be a' the same to you, now ye've married the other man, whether Jaffray Delamayn ance promised ye

fair in the bygone time, or no." Those words presented Anne's position before her in a light in which she had

not seen it yet. She had truly expressed the loathing that Geoffrey now inspired in her, when she had

declared, in her letter to Arnold, that, even if he offered her marriage, in atonement for the past, she would

rather be what she was than be his wife. It had never occurred to her, until this moment, that others would

misinterpret the sensitive pride which had prompted the abandonment of her claim on the man who had

ruined her. It had never been brought home to her until now, that if she left him contemptuously to go his

own way, and sell himself to the first woman who had money enough to buy him, her conduct would sanction

the false conclusion that she was powerless to interfere, because she was married already to another man. The

color that had risen in her face vanished, and left it deadly pale again. She began to see that the purpose of her

"I will give you your receipt," she said. "Tell me what to write, and it shall be written."

Bishopriggs dictated the receipt. She wrote and signed it. He put it in his pocketbook with the fivepound

For a moment she hesitated. A sudden shuddering shook her from head to footthe forewarning, it might be,

of the influence which that letter, saved from destruction by a hair'sbreadth, was destined to exercise on her

life to come. She recovered herself, and folded her cloak closer to her, as if she had felt a passing chill.

She folded it and put it in the pocket of her dress. Then turned to goand stopped at the door.

"That is no concern of yours. You can answer my question or not, as you please."

"Eh, my leddy! yer temper's no' what it used to be in the auld times at the hottle. Aweel! aweel! ye ha' gi'en

me yer money, and I'll een gi' ye back gude measure for it, on my side. Mistress Glenarm's awa' in

privateincog, as they sayto Jaffray Delamayn's brither at Swanhaven Lodge. Ye may rely on the

information, and it's no' that easy to come at either. They've keepit it a secret as they think from a' the warld.

Hech! hech! Tammy Pennyquick's youngest but twa is pageboy at the hoose where the leddy's been

veesitin', on the outskirts o' Pairth. Keep a secret if ye can frae the pawky ears o' yer domestics in the

servants' hall!Eh! she's aff, without a word at parting!" he exclaimed, as Anne left him without ceremony

in the middle of his dissertation on secrets and servants' halls. "I trow I ha' gaen out for wool, and come back

shorn," he added, reflecting grimly on the disastrous overthrow of the promising speculation on which he had

embarked. "My certie! there was naething left for't, when madam's fingers had grippit me, but to slip through

them as cannily as I could. What's Jaffray's marrying, or no' marrying, to do wi' her?" he wondered, reverting

to the question which Anne had put to him at parting. "And whar's the sense o' her errand, if she's reely bent

Whatever the sense of her errand might be, Anne's next proceeding proved that she was really bent on it.

After resting two days, she left Perth by the first train in the morning, for Swanhaven Lodge.

JULIUS DELAMAYN was alone, idly sauntering to and fro, with his violin in his hand, on the terrace at

The first mellow light of evening was in the sky. It was the close of the day on which Anne Silvester had left

Some hours earlier, Julius had sacrificed himself to the duties of his political positionas made for him by

his father. He had submitted to the dire necessity of delivering an oration to the electors, at a public meeting

in the neighboring town of Kirkandrew. A detestable atmosphere to breathe; a disorderly audience to address;

insolent opposition to conciliate; imbecile inquiries to answer; brutish interruptions to endure; greedy

petitioners to pacify; and dirty hands to shake: these are the stages by which the aspiring English gentleman is

compelled to travel on the journey which leads him from the modest obscurity of private life to the glorious

publicity of the House of Commons. Julius paid the preliminary penalties of a political first appearance, as

exacted by free institutions, with the necessary patience; and returned to the welcome shelter of home, more

indifferent, if possible, to the attractions of Parliamentary distinction than when he set out. The discord of the

roaring "people" (still echoing in his ears) had sharpened his customary sensibility to the poetry of sound, as

composed by Mozart, and as interpreted by piano and violin. Possessing himself of his beloved instrument,

he had gone out on the terrace to cool himself in the evening air, pending the arrival of the servant whom he

had summoned by the musicroom bell. The man appeared at the glass door which led into the room; and

reported, in answer to his master's inquiry, that Mrs. Julius Delamayn was out paying visits, and was not

Julius groaned in spirit. The finest music which Mozart has written for the violin associates that instrument

with the piano. Without the wife to help him, the husband was mute. After an instant's consideration, Julius

hit on an idea which promised, in some degree, to remedy the disaster of Mrs. Delamayn's absence from

"My compliments. If Mrs. Glenarm has nothing else to do, will she be so kind as to come to me in the

The servant went away with his message. Julius seated himself on one of the terracebenches, and began to

Mrs. Glenarmrightly reported by Bishopriggs as having privately taken refuge from her anonymous

correspondent at Swanhaven Lodgewas, musically speaking, far from being an efficient substitute for Mrs.

Delamayn. Julius possessed, in his wife, one of the few players on the pianoforte under whose subtle touch

that shallow and soulless instrument becomes inspired with expression not its own, and produces music

instead of noise. The fine organization which can work this miracle had not been bestowed on Mrs. Glenarm.

She had been carefully taught; and she was to be trusted to play correctlyand that was all. Julius, hungry

The servant returned with his answer. Mrs. Glenarm would join Mr. Delamayn in the musicroom in ten

Julius rose, relieved, and resumed his sauntering walk; now playing little snatches of music, now stopping to

look at the flowers on the terrace, with an eye that enjoyed their beauty, and a hand that fondled them with

caressing touch. If Imperial Parliament had seen him at that moment, Imperial Parliament must have given

notice of a question to his illustrious father: Is it possible, my lord, that you can have begotten such a Member

After stopping for a moment to tighten one of the strings of his violin, Julius, raising his head from the

instrument, was surprised to see a lady approaching him on the terrace. Advancing to meet her, and

perceiving that she was a total stranger to him, he assumed that she was, in all probability, a visitor to his

"Have I the honor of speaking to a friend of Mrs. Delamayn's?" he asked. "My wife is not at home, I am sorry

"I am a stranger to Mrs. Delamayn," the lady answered. "The servant informed me that she had gone out; and

"I must beg you to forgive my intrusion," the stranger went on. "My object is to ask permission to see a lady

"Pray don't think any permission necessary. A friend of Mrs. Glenarm's may take her welcome for granted in

This made the ceremonious request preferred by the lady a little more intelligiblebut it left the lady's object

in wishing to speak to Mrs. Glenarm still in the dark. Julius politely waited, until it pleased her to proceed

further, and explain herself The explanation did not appear to be an easy one to give. Her eyes dropped to the

"My nameif I mention it," she resumed, without looking up, "may possibly inform you" She paused.

Her color came and went. She hesitated again; struggled with her agitation, and controlled it. "I am Anne

Silvester," she said, suddenly raising her pale face, and suddenly steadying her trembling voice.

The name was doubly known to him. Not long since, he had heard it from his father's lips, at his father's

bedside. Lord Holchester had charged him, had earnestly charged him, to bear that name in mind, and to help

the woman who bore it, if the woman ever applied to him in time to come. Again, he had heard the name,

more lately, associated scandalously with the name of his brother. On the receipt of the first of the

anonymous letters sent to her, Mrs. Glenarm had not only summoned Geoffrey himself to refute the aspersion

cast upon him, but had forwarded a private copy of the letter to his relatives at Swanhaven. Geoffrey's

defense had not entirely satisfied Julius that his brother was free from blame. As he now looked at Anne

Silvester, the doubt returned upon him strengthenedalmost confirmed. Was this womanso modest, so

gentle, so simply and unaffectedly refinedthe shameless adventuress denounced by Geoffrey, as claiming

him on the strength of a foolish flirtation; knowing herself, at the time, to be privately married to another

man? Was this womanwith the voice of a lady, the look of a lady, the manner of a ladyin league (as

Geoffrey had declared) with the illiterate vagabond who was attempting to extort money anonymously from

Mrs. Glenarm? Impossible! Making every allowance for the proverbial deceitfulness of appearances,

"Your name has been mentioned to me," said Julius, answering her after a momentary pause. His instincts, as

a gentleman, made him shrink from referring to the association of her name with the name of his brother.

"My father mentioned you," he added, considerately explaining his knowledge of her in that way, "when I

"Your father!" She came a step nearer, with a look of distrust as well as a look of astonishment in her face.

"He was ill at the time," Julius answered. "And he had been thinking of events in his past life with which I am

entirely unacquainted. He said he had known your father and mother. He desired me, if you were ever in want

of any assistance, to place my services at your disposal. When he expressed that wish, he spoke very

earnestlyhe gave me the impression that there was a feeling of regret associated with the recollections on

Slowly, and in silence, Anne drew back to the low wall of the terrace close by. She rested one hand on it to

support herself. Julius had said words of terrible import without a suspicion of what he had done. Never until

now had Anne Silvester known that the man who had betrayed her was the son of that other man whose

discovery of the flaw in the marriage had ended in the betrayal of her mother before her. She felt the shock of

the revelation with a chill of superstitious dread. Was the chain of a fatality wound invisibly round her? Turn

which way she might was she still going darkly on, in the track of her dead mother, to an appointed and

hereditary doom? Present things passed from her view as the awful doubt cast its shadow over her mind. She

lived again for a moment in the time when she was a child. She saw the face of her mother once more, with

the wan despair on it of the bygone days when the title of wife was denied her, and the social prospect was

"Can I get you any thing?" he asked. "You are looking very ill. I hope I have said nothing to distress you?"

The question failed to attract her attention. She put a question herself instead of answering it.

"Did you say you were quite ignorant of what your father was thinking of when he spoke to you about me?"

She paused, absorbed once more in her own thoughts. Startled, on the memorable day when they had first

met, by Geoffrey's family name, she had put the question to him whether there had not been some

acquaintance between their parents in the past time. Deceiving her in all else, he had not deceived in this. He

had spoken in good faith, when he had declared that he had never heard her father or her mother mentioned at

The curiosity of Julius was aroused. He attempted to lead her on into saying more.

"You appear to know what my father was thinking of when he spoke to me," he resumed. "May I ask"

"Pray don't ask! It's past and overit can have no interest for youit has nothing to do with my errand here.

I must return," she went on, hurriedly, "to my object in trespassing on your kindness. Have you heard me

Julius had not anticipated that sh e would approach, of her own accord, the painful subject on which he had

himself forborne to touch. He was a little disappointed. He had expected more delicacy of feeling from her

"If it had not been necessary," she answered, "do you think I could have forced myself to mention it to

you? Let me remind you that I am here on sufferance. If I don't speak plainly (no matter at what sacrifice to

my own feelings), I make my situation more embarrassing than it is already. I have something to tell Mrs.

Glenarm relating to the anonymous letters which she has lately received. And I have a word to say to her,

next, about her contemplated marriage. Before you allow me to do this, you ought to know who I am. (I have

owned it.) You ought to have heard the worst that can be said of my conduct. (Your face tells me you have

heard the worst.) After the forbearance you have shown to me, as a perfect stranger, I will not commit the

meanness of taking you by surprise. Perhaps, Mr. Delamayn, you understand, now, why I felt myself obliged

to refer to your brother. Will you trust me with permission to speak to Mrs. Glenarm?"

It was simply and modestly saidwith an unaffected and touching resignation of look and manner. Julius

gave her back the respect and the sympathy which, for a moment, he had unjustly withheld from her.

"You have placed a confidence in me," he said "which most persons in your situation would have withheld. I

feel bound, in return to place confidence in you. I will take it for granted that your motive in this matter is one

which it is my duty to respect. It will be for Mrs. Glenarm to say whether she wishes the interview to take

place or not. All that I can do is to leave you free to propose it to her. You are free."

As he spoke the sound of the piano reached them from the musicroom. Julius pointed to the glass door

"You have only to go in by that door," he said, "and you will find Mrs. Glenarm alone."

Anne bowed, and left him. Arrived at the short flight of steps which led up to the door, she paused to collect

A sudden reluctance to go on and enter the room took possession of her, as she waited with her foot on the

lower step. The report of Mrs. Glenarm's contemplated marriage had produced no such effect on her as Sir

Patrick had supposed: it had found no love for Geoffrey left to wound, no latent jealousy only waiting to be

inflamed. Her object in taking the journey to Perth was completed when her correspondence with Geoffrey

was in her own hands again. The change of purpose which had brought her to Swanhaven was due entirely to

the new view of her position toward Mrs. Glenarm which the coarse commonsense of Bishopriggs had first

suggested to her. If she failed to protest against Mrs. Glenarm's marriage, in the interests of the reparation

which Geoffrey owed to her, her conduct would only confirm Geoffrey's audacious assertion that she was a

married woman already. For her own sake she might still have hesitated to move in the matter. But Blanche's

interests were concerned as well as her own; and, for Blanche's sake, she had resolved on making the journey

At the same time, feeling toward Geoffrey as she felt nowconscious as she was of not really desiring the

reparation on which she was about to insistit was essential to the preservation of her own selfrespect that

she should have some purpose in view which could justify her to her own conscience in assuming the

She had only to call to mind the critical situation of Blancheand to see her purpose before her plainly.

Assuming that she could open the coming interview by peaceably proving that her claim on Geoffrey was

beyond dispute, she might then, without fear of misconception, take the tone of a friend instead of an enemy,

and might, with the best grace, assure Mrs. Glenarm that she had no rivalry to dread, on the one easy

condition that she engaged to make Geoffrey repair the evil that he had done. "Marry him without a word

against it to dread from meso long as he unsays the words and undoes the deeds which have thrown a

doubt on the marriage of Arnold and Blanche." If she could but bring the interview to this endthere was

the way found of extricating Arnold, by her own exertions, from the false position in which she had

innocently placed him toward his wife! Such was the object before her, as she now stood on the brink of her

Up to this moment, she had firmly believed in her capacity to realize her own visionary project. It was only

when she had her foot on the step that a doubt of the success of the coming experiment crossed her mind. For

the first time, she saw the weak point in her own reasoning. For the first time, she felt how much she had

blindly taken for granted, in assuming that Mrs. Glenarm would have sufficient sense of justice and sufficient

command of temper to hear her patiently. All her hopes of success rested on her own favorable estimate of a

woman who was a total stranger to her! What if the first words exchanged between them proved the estimate

It was too late to pause and reconsider the position. Julius Delamayn had noticed her hesitation, and was

advancing toward her from the end of the terrace. There was no help for it but to master her own irresolution,

and to run the risk boldly. "Come what may, I have gone too far to stop here." With that desperate resolution

to animate her, she opened the glass door at the top of the steps, and went into the room.

Mrs. Glenarm rose from the piano. The two womenone so richly, the other so plainly dressed; one with her

beauty in its full bloom, the other worn and blighted; one with society at her feet, the other an outcast living

under the bleak shadow of reproachthe two women stood face to face, and exchanged the cold courtesies

The first to meet the trivial necessities of the situation was Mrs. Glenarm. She goodhumoredly put an end to

the embarrassmentwhich the shy visitor appeared to feel acutelyby speaking first.

"I am afraid the servants have not told you?" she said. "Mrs. Delamayn has gone out."

Mrs. Glenarm looked a little surprised. She went on, however, as amiably as before.

Anne explained again. "I have just parted from Mr. Delamayn." Mrs. Glenarm opened her eyes in

astonishment. Anne proceeded. "I have come here, if you will excuse the intrusion"

She hesitatedat a loss how to end the sentence. Mrs. Glenarm, beginning by this time to feel a strong

"Pray don't apologize," she said. "I think I understand that you are so good as to have come to see me. You

Anne could stand no longer. She took the offered chair. Mrs. Glenarm resumed her place on the musicstool,

and ran her fingers idly over the keys of the piano. "Where did you see Mr. Delamayn?" she went on. "The

most irresponsible of men, except when he has got his fiddle in his hand! Is he coming in soon? Are we going

to have any music? Have you come to play with us? Mr. Delamayn is a perfect fanatic in music, isn't he?

Why isn't he here to introduce us? I suppose you like the classical style, too? Did you know that I was in the

Frivolous as they were, Mrs. Glenarm's questions were not without their use. They gave Anne time to

"I have come here, Mrs. Glenarmby Mr. Delamayn's permissionto ask leave to speak to you on a matter

Mrs. Glenarm's manyringed fingers paused over the keys of the piano. Mrs. Gle narm's plump face turned

The flippant tone of the speaker jarred on Anne. If Mrs. Glenarm's nature was as shallow as it appeared to be

on the surface, there was little hope of any sympathy establishing itself between them.

"I wished to speak to you," she answered, "about something that happened while you were paying a visit in

The dawning surprise in Mrs. Glenarm's face became intensified into an expression of distrust. Her hearty

manner vanished under a veil of conventional civility, drawn over it suddenly. She looked at Anne. "Never at

the best of times a beauty," she thought. "Wretchedly out of health now. Dressed like a servant, and looking

The last doubt was not to be borne in silence by a person of Mrs. Glenarm's temperament. She addressed

herself to the solution of it with the most unblushing directnessdextrously excused by the most winning

"Pardon me," she said. "My memory for faces is a bad one; and I don't think you heard me just now, when I

"And yetif I understand what you are referring toyou wish to speak to me about something which is

"You understand me quite correctly," said Anne. "I wish to speak to you about some anonymous letters"

"You shall hear it directlyif you will first allow me to finish what I wanted to say. I wishif I canto

persuade you that I come here as a friend, before I mention my name. You will, I am sure, not be very sorry

"Pardon me once more," said Mrs. Glenarm, interposing for the second time. "I am at a loss to know to what I

am to attribute this kind interest in my affairs on the part of a total stranger."

This time, her tone was more than politely coldit was politely impertinent. Mrs. Glenarm had lived all her

life in good society, and was a perfect mistress of the subtleties of refined insolence in her intercourse with

Anne's sensitive nature felt the woundbut Anne's patient courage submitted. She put away from her the

insolence which had tried to sting, and went on, gently and firmly, as if nothing had happened.

"The person who wrote to you anonymously," she said, "alluded to a correspondence. He is no longer in

possession of it. The correspondence has passed into hands which may be trusted to respect it. It will be put

"You answer for that?" repeated Mrs. Glenarm. She suddenly leaned forward over the piano, and fixed her

eyes in unconcealed scrutiny on Anne's face. The violent temper, so often found in combination with the

weak nature, began to show itself in her rising color, and her lowering brow. "How do you know what the

person wrote?" she asked. "How do you know that the correspondence has passed into other hands? Who are

you?" Before Anne could answer her, she sprang to her feet, electrified by a new idea. "The man who wrote

to me spoke of something else besides a correspondence. He spoke of a woman. I have found you out!" she

"Mrs. Glenarm," she said, calmly, "I warnno, I entreat younot to take that tone with me. Compose

yourself; and I promise to satisfy you that you are more interested than you are willing to believe in what I

have still to say. Pray bear with me for a little longer. I admit that you have guessed right. I own that I am the

"It's false!" cried Mrs. Glenarm. "You wretch! Do you come to me with your trumpedup story? What does

Julius Delamayn mean by exposing me to this?" Her indignation at finding herself in the same room with

Anne broke its way through, not the restraints only, but the common decencies of politeness. "I'll ring for the

She tried to cross the fireplace to ring the bell. Anne, who was standing nearest to it, stepped forward at the

same moment. Without saying a word, she motioned with her hand to the other woman to stand back. There

was a pause. The two waited, with their eyes steadily fixed on one anothereach with her resolution laid

bare to the other's view. In a moment more, the finer nature prevailed. Mrs. Glenarm drew back a step in

"Listen to you?" repeated Mrs. Glenarm. "You have no right to be in this house. You have no right to force

Anne's patienceso firmly and admirably preserved thus farbegan to fail her at last.

"Take care, Mrs. Glenarm!" she said, still struggling with herself. "I am not naturally a patient woman.

Trouble has done much to tame my temperbut endurance has its limits. You have reached the limits of

mine. I have a claim to be heardand after what you have said to me, I will be heard!"

"You have no claim! You shameless woman, you are married already. I know the man's name. Arnold

"I decline to answer a woman who speaks of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn in that familiar way."

There was a light in her eyes, there was a ring in her voice, which showed that she was roused at last. Mrs.

"If he told you that I was any thing but a single womanif he told you that Arnold Brinkworth was married

"I tell you to your faceyou may have been Geoffrey Delamayn's mistress; you are Arnold Brinkworth's

At those words the long restrained anger leaped up in Anneall the more hotly for having been hitherto so

steadily controlled. In one breathless moment the whirlwind of her indignation swept away, not only all

remembrance of the purpose which had brought her to Swanhaven, but all sense even of the unpardonable

wrong which she had suffered at Geoffrey's hands. If he had been there, at that moment, and had offered to

redeem his pledge, she would have consented to marry him, while Mrs. Glenarm s eye was on herno

matter whether she destroyed herself in her first cool moment afterward or not. The small sting had planted

itself at last in the great nature. The noblest woman is only a woman, after all!

"I forbid your marriage to Geoffrey Delamayn! I insist on his performing the promise he gave me, to make

me his wife! I have got it here in his own words, in his own writing. On his soul, he swears it to mehe will

redeem his pledge. His mistress, did you say? His wife, Mrs. Glenarm, before the week is out!"

In those wild words she cast back the tauntwith the letter held in triumph in her hand.

Daunted for the moment by the doubt now literally forced on her, that Anne might really have the claim on

Geoffrey which she advanced, Mrs. Glenarm answered nevertheless with the obstinacy of a woman brought

"I won't give him up!" she cried. "Your letter is a forgery. You have no proof. I won't, I won't, I won't give

Anne pointed disdainfully to the letter that she held. "Here is his pledged and written word," she said. "While

"I shall be his wife the day after the race. I am going to him in Londonto warn him against You!"

"You will find me in London, before youwith this in my hand. Do you know his writing?"

She held up the letter, open. Mrs. Glenarm's hand flew out with the stealthy rapidity of a cat's paw, to seize

and destroy it. Quick as she was, her rival was quicker still. For an instant they faced each other

breathlessone with the letter held behind her; one with her hand still stretched out.

At the same momentbefore a word more had passed between themthe glass door opened; and Julius

"We decided, on the terrace," he said, quietly, "that you should speak to Mrs. Glenarm, if Mrs. Glenarm

wished it. Do you think it desirable that the interview should be continued any longer?"

Anne's head drooped on her breast. The fiery anger in her was quenched in an instant.

"I have been cruelly provoked, Mr. Delamayn," she answered. "But I have no right to plead that." She looked

up at him for a moment. The hot tears of shame gathered in her eyes, and fell slowly over her cheeks. She

bent her head again, and hid them from him. "The only atonement I can make," she said, "is to ask your

In silence, she turned away to the door. In silence, Julius Delamayn paid her the trifling courtesy of opening it

"If I have been entrapped into seeing that woman, with your approval," she said, haughtily, "I owe it to

"I authorized her to ask you for an interview, Mrs. Glenarm. If she has presumed on the permission that I

gave her, I sincerely regret it, and I beg you to accept my apologies. At the same time, I may venture to add,

in defense of my conduct, that I thought herand think her stilla woman to be pitied more than to be

"To be pitied did you say?" asked Mrs. Glenarm, doubtful whether her ears had not deceived her.

"You may find it convenient, Mr. Delamayn, to forget what your brother has told us about that person.

"So do I, Mrs. Glenarm. But, with my experience of Geoffrey" He hesitated, and ran his fingers nervously

Julius declined to admit that he doubted his brother's word, to the lady who was about to become his brother's

"I don't quite go that length," he said. "I find it difficult to reconcile what Geoffrey has told us, with Miss

"Her appearance!" cried Mrs. Glenarm, in a transport of astonishment and disgust. "Her appearance! Oh, the

men! I beg your pardonI ought to have remembered that there is no accounting for tastes. Go onpray go

"I particularly request you will go on," answered Mrs. Glenarm, emphatically. "You find it 'impossible to

"Oh, very well. Difficult to reconcile what Geoffrey told us, with Miss Silvester's manner and appearance.

What next? You had something else to say, when I was so rude as to interrupt you. What was it?"

"Only this," said Julius. "I don't find it easy to understand Sir Patrick Lundie's conduct in permitting Mr.

"Wait a minute! The marriage of that horrible woman to Mr. Brinkworth was a private marriage. Of course,

Julius owned that this might be possible, and made a second attempt to lead the angry lady back to the piano.

Useless, once more! Though she shrank from confessing it to herself, Mrs. Glenarm's belief in the

genuineness of her lover's defense had been shaken. The tone taken by Juliusmoderate as it wasrevived

the first startling suspicion of the credibility of Geoffrey's statement which Anne's language and conduct had

forced on Mrs. Glenarm. She dropped into the nearest chair, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. "You

always hated poor Geoffrey," she said, with a burst of tears. "And now you're defaming him to me!"

Julius managed her admirably. On the point of answering her seriously, he checked himself. "I always hated

poor Geoffrey," he repeated, with a smile. "You ought to be the last person to say that, Mrs. Glenarm! I

"Then I wish you had left him in London!" retorted Mrs. Glenarm, shifting suddenly from tears to temper. "I

was a happy woman before I met your brother. I can't give him up!" she burst out, shifting back again from

temper to tears. "I don't care if he has deceived me. I won't let another woman have him! I will be his wife!"

She threw herself theatrically on her knees before Julius. "Oh, do help me to find out the truth!" she said.

There was genuine distress in her face, there was true feeling in her voice. Who would have believed that

there were reserves of merciless insolence and heartless cruelty in this womanand that they had been

"I will do all I can," said Julius, raising her. "Let us talk of it when you are more composed. Try a little

"Would you like me to play?" asked Mrs. Glenarm, becoming a model of feminine docility at a moment's

"Let's try the Fifteenth," he said, placing Mrs. Glenarm at the piano. "We will begin with the Adagio. If ever

They began. At the third bar Mrs. Glenarm dropped a noteand the bow of Julius paused shuddering on the

"I can't play!" she said. "I am so agitated; I am so anxious. How am I to find out whether that wretch is really

married or not? Who can I ask? I can't go to Geoffrey in Londonthe trainers won't let me see him. I can't

appeal to Mr. Brinkworth himselfI am not even acquainted with him. Who else is there? Do think, and tell

There was but one chance of making her return to the Adagiothe chance of hitting on a suggestion which

would satisfy and quiet her. Julius laid his violin on the piano, and considered the question before him

"There are the witnesses," he said. "If Geoffrey's story is to be depended on, the landlady and the waiter at the

"Low people!" objected Mrs. Glenarm. "People I don't know. People who might take advantage of my

Julius considered once more; and made another suggestion. With the fatal ingenuity of innocence, he hit on

the idea of referring Mrs. Glenarm to no less a person than Lady Lundie herself!

"There is our good friend at Windygates," he said. "Some whisper of the matter may have reached Lady

Lundie's ears. It may be a little awkward to call on her (if she has heard any thing) at the time of a serious

family disaster. You are the best judge of that, however. All I can do is to throw out the notion. Windygates

Something might come of it! Let it be remembered that Lady Lundie had been left entirely in the darkthat

she had written to Sir Patrick in a tone which plainly showed that her selfesteem was wounded and her

suspicion rousedand that her first intimation of the serious dilemma in which Arnold Brinkworth stood

was now likely, thanks to Julius Delamayn, to reach her from the lips of a mere acquaintance. Let this be

remembered; and then let the estimate be formed of what might come of itnot at Windygates only, but also

Mrs. Glenarm was enchanted. "The very person to go to!" she said. "If I am not let in I can easily writeand

explain my object as an apology. Lady Lundie is so rightminded, so sympathetic. If she sees no one elseI

have only to confide my anxieties to her, and I am sure she will see me. You will lend me a carriage, won't

"Don't think me very troublesome," he said coaxingly. "Between this and tomorrow we have nothing to do.

And it is such music, if you once get into the swing of it! Would you mind trying again?"

Mrs. Glenarm was willing to do any thing to prove her gratitude, after the invaluable hint which she had just

received. At the second trial the fair pianist's eye and hand were in perfect harmony. The lovely melody

which the Adagio of Mozart's Fifteenth Sonata has given to violin and piano flowed smoothly at lastand

Persons with an irritable sense of propriety, whose selfappointed duty it is to be always crying out, are

warned to pause before they cry out on this occasion. The lady now presented to view being no less a person

than Lady Lundie herself, it follows, as a matter of course, that the utmost demands of propriety are, by the

mere assertion of that fact, abundantly and indisputably satisfied. To say that any thing short of direct moral

advantage could, by any possibility, accrue to any living creature by the presentation of her ladyship in a

horizontal, instead of a perpendicular position, is to assert that Virtue is a question of posture, and that

Respectability ceases to assert itself when it ceases to appear in morning or evening dress. Will any body be

Her ladyship had received Blanche's written announcement of the sudden stoppage of the bridal tour; and had

penned the answer to Sir Patrickthe receipt of which at Ham Farm has been already described. This done,

Lady Lundie felt it due to herself to take a becoming position in her own house, pending the possible arrival

of Sir Patrick's reply. What does a rightminded woman do, when she has reason to believe that she is cruelly

distrusted by the members of her own family? A rightminded woman feels it so acutely that she falls ill.

The case being a serious one, a medical practitioner of the highest grade in the profession was required to

The physician came in a carriage and pair, with the necessary bald head, and the indispensable white cravat.

He felt her ladyship's pulse, and put a few gentle questions. He turned his back solemnly, as only a great

doctor can, on his own positive internal conviction that his patient had nothing whatever the matter with her.

He said, with every appearance of believing in himself, "Nerves, Lady Lundie. Repose in bed is essentially

necessary. I will write a prescription." He prescribed, with perfect gravity: Aromatic Spirits of

Ammonia16 drops. Spirits of Red Lavender10 drops. Syrup of Orange Peel2 drams. Camphor

Julep1 ounce. When he had written, Misce fiat Hanstus (instead of Mix a Draught)when he had added,

Ter die Sumendus (instead of To be taken Three times a day)and when he had certified to his own Latin,

by putting his initials at the end, he had only to make his bow; to slip two guineas into his pocket; and to go

his way, with an approving professional conscience, in the character of a physician who had done his duty.

Lady Lundie was in bed. The visible part of her ladyship was perfectly attired, with a view to the occasion. A

fillet of superb white lace encircled her head. She wore an adorable invalid jacket of white cambric, trimmed

with lace and pink ribbons. The rest wasbedclothes. On a table at her side stood the Red Lavender

Draughtin color soothing to the eye; in flavor not unpleasant to the taste. A book of devotional character

was near it. The domestic ledgers, and the kitchen report for the day, were ranged modestly behind the devout

book. (Not even her ladyship's nerves, observe, were permitted to interfere with her ladyship's duty.) A fan, a

smellingbottle, and a handkerchief lay within reach on the counterpane. The spacious room was partially

darkened. One of the lower windows was open, affording her ladyship the necessary cubic supply of air. The

late Sir Thomas looked at his widow, in effigy, from the wall opposite the end of the bed. Not a chair was out

of its place; not a vestige of wearing apparel dared to show itself outside the sacred limits of the wardrobe

and the drawers. The sparkling treasures of the toilettable glittered in the dim distance, The jugs and basins

were of a rare and creamy white; spotless and beautiful to see. Look where you might, you saw a perfect

room. Then look at the bedand you saw a perfect woman, and completed the picture.

It was the day after Anne's appearance at Swanhaventoward the end of the afternoon.

Lady Lundie's own maid opened the door noiselessly, and stole on tiptoe to the bedside. Her ladyship's eyes

Hopkins laid two cards on the counterpane. "Mrs. Delamayn, my ladyand Mrs. Glenarm."

"Yes, my lady. Mrs. Glenarm sent for me. She went into the library, and wrote this note." Hopkins produced

"No, my lady. Mrs. Glenarm told me Yes or No would do for answer, if you could only have the goodness to

"Thoughtless of Mrs. Glenarmat a time when the doctor insists on perfect repose," said Lady Lundie. "It

She fortified herself by an application of the smellingbottle, and opened the note. It ran thus:

"So grieved, dear Lady Lundie, to hear that you are a prisoner in your room! I had taken the opportunity of

calling with Mrs. Delamayn, in the hope that I might be able to ask you a question. Will your inexhaustible

kindness forgive me if I ask it in writing? Have you had any unexpected news of Mr. Arnold Brinkworth

lately? I mean, have you heard any thing about him, which has taken you very much by surprise? I have a

serious reason for asking this. I will tell you what it is, the moment you are able to see me. Until then, one

word of answer is all I expect. Send word downYes, or No. A thousand apologiesand pray get better

The singular question contained in this note suggested one of two inferences to Lady Lundie's mind. Either

Mrs. Glenarm had heard a report of the unexpected return of the married couple to Englandor she was in

the far more interesting and important position of possessing a clew to the secret of what was going on under

the surface at Ham Farm. The phrase used in the note, "I have a serious reason for asking this," appeared to

favor the latter of the two interpretations. Impossible as it seemed to be that Mrs. Glenarm could know

something about Arnold of which Lady Lundie was in absolute ignorance, her ladyship's curiosity (already

powerfully excited by Blanche's mysterious letter) was only to be quieted by obtaining the necessary

Hopkins respectfully held up her hands in horror. Company in the bedroom in the present state of her

Hopkins produced an elegant little handmirror. Lady Lundie carefully surveyed herself in it down to the

margin of the bedclothes. Above criticism in every respect? Yeseven when the critic was a woman.

In a minute or two more the ironmaster's widow fluttered into the rooma little overdressed as usual; and

a little profuse in expressions of gratitude for her ladyship's kindness, and of anxiety about her ladyship's

health. Lady Lundie endured it as long as she couldthen stopped it with a gesture of polite remonstrance,

"Now, my dearabout this question in your note? Is it possible you have heard already that Arnold

Brinkworth and his wife have come back from Baden?" Mrs. Glenarm opened her eyes in astonishment. Lady

Lundie put it more plainly. "They were to have gone on to Switzerland, you know, for their wedding tour,

and they suddenly altered their minds, and came back to England on Sunday last."

"Dear Lady Lundie, it's not that! Have you heard nothing about Mr. Brinkworth except what you have just

There was a pause. Mrs. Glenarm toyed hesitatingly with her parasol. Lady Lundie leaned forward in the bed,

Mrs. Glenarm decided to risk it. "Have you never heard," she asked, "that Mr. Brinkworth might possibly

Her ladyship first closed her eyes in horror and then searched blindly on the counterpane for the

smellingbottle. Mrs. Glenarm gave it to her, and waited to see how the invalid bore it before she said any

"There are things one must hear," remarked Lady Lundie. "I see an act of duty involved in this. No words can

Her ladyship applied for the second time to the smellingbottle. "Arnold Brinkworth's most intimate friend!"

she exclaimed. "He ought to know if any body does. This is dreadful. Why should Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn

"I am going to marry him," answered Mrs. Glenarm. "That is my excuse, dear Lady Lundie, for troubling you

Lady Lundie partially opened her eyes in a state of faint bewilderment. "I don't understand," she said. "For

Yes. Lady Lundie had heard about the letters. But only what the public in general had heard. The name of the

lady in the background not mentioned; and Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn assumed to be as innocent as the babe

unborn. Any mistake in that assumption? "Give me your hand, my poor dear, and confide it all to me!"

"He is not quite innocent," said Mrs. Glenarm. "He owned to a foolish flirtationall her doing, no doubt. Of

course, I insisted on a distinct explanation. Had she really any claim on him? Not the shadow of a claim. I felt

that I only had his word for thatand I told him so. He said he could prove ithe said he knew her to be

privately married already. Her husband had disowned and deserted her; she was at the end of her resources;

she was desperate enough to attempt any thing. I thought it all very suspiciousuntil Geoffrey mentioned

the man's name. That certainly proved that he had cast off his wife; for I myself knew that he had lately

Lady Lundie suddenly started up from her pillowhonestly agitated; genuinely alarmed by this time.

Mrs. Glenarm rose to ring for help. Before she could touch the bell, her ladyship had rallied again.

"Stop!" she cried. "I can confirm it! It's true, Mrs. Glenarm! it's true! Open the silver box on the

toilettableyou will find the key in it. Bring me the top letter. Here! Look at it. I got this from Blanche.

Why have they suddenly given up their bridal tour? Why have they gone back to Sir Patrick at Ham Farm?

Why have they put me off with an infamous subterfuge to account for it? I felt sure something dreadful had

happened. Now I know what it is!" She sank back again, with closed eyes, and repeated the words, in a fierce

Mrs. Glenarm read the letter. The reason given for the suspiciously sudden return of the bride and bridegroom

was palpably a subterfugeand, more remarkable still, the name of Anne Silvester was connected with it.

"This is a confirmation," she said. "Mr. Brinkworth has been found outthe woman is married to

himGeoffrey is free. Oh, my dear friend, what a load of anxiety you have taken off my mind! That vile

"Yes. I saw her yesterday. She forced herself in at Swanhaven. She called him Geoffrey Delamayn. She

declared herself a single woman. She claimed him before my face in the most audacious manner. She shook

"Who?" echoed Mrs. Glenarm. "Don't you even know that? Why her name is repeated half a dozen times in

Lady Lundie uttered a scream that rang through the room. Mrs. Glenarm started to her feet. The maid

appeared at the door in terror. Her ladyship motioned to the woman to withdraw again instantly, and then

"Sit down," she said. "Let me have a minute or two of quiet. I want nothing more."

The silence in the room was unbroken until Lady Lundie spoke again. She asked for Blanche's letter. After

reading it carefully, she laid it aside, and fell for a while into deep thought.

"I am certain of it! You forget, Mrs. Glenarm, that this horrible discovery casts a doubt on my

stepdaughter's marriage. Do you think, if she knew the truth, she would write of a wretch who has mortally

injured her as she writes here? They have put her off with the excuse that she innocently sends to me. I see it

as plainly as I see you! Mr. Brinkworth and Sir Patrick are in league to keep us both in the dark. Dear child! I

owe her an atonement. If nobody else opens her eyes, I will do it. Sir Patrick shall find that Blanche has a

A smilethe dangerous smile of an inveterately vindictive woman thoroughly rousedshowed itself with a

furtive suddenness on her face. Mrs. Glenarm was a little startled. Lady Lundie below the surfaceas

distinguished from Lady Lundie on the surfacewas not a pleasant object to contemplate.

"Pray try to compose yourself," said Mrs. Glenarm. "Dear Lady Lundie, you frighten me!"

The bland surface of her ladyship appeared smoothly once more; drawn back, as it were, over the hidden

"Forgive me for feeling it!" she said, with the patient sweetness which so eminently distinguished her in

times of trial. "It falls a little heavily on a poor sick womaninnocent of all suspicion, and insulted by the

most heartless neglect. Don't let me distress you. I shall rally, my dear; I shall rally! In this dreadful

calamitythis abyss of crime and misery and deceitI have no one to depend on but myself. For Blanche's

sake, the whole thing must be cleared upprobed, my dear, probed to the depths. Blanche must take a

position that is worthy of her. Blanche must insist on her rights, under My protection. Never mind what I

suffer, or what I sacrifice. There is a work of justice for poor weak Me to do. It shall be done!" said her

ladyship, fanning herself with an aspect of illimitable resolution. "It shall be done!"

"But, Lady Lundie what can you do? They are all away in the south. And as for that abominable woman"

"I have my surprise in store, dear friend, as well as you. That abominable woman was employed as Blanche's

governess in this house. Wait! that is not all. She left us suddenlyran awayon the pretense of being

privately married. I know where she went. I can trace what she did. I can find out who was with her. I can

follow Mr. Brinkworth's proceedings, behind Mr. Brinkworth's back. I can search out the truth, without

depending on people compromised in this black business, whose interest it is to deceive me. And I will do it

today!" She closed the fan with a sharp snap of t riumph, and settled herself on the pillow in placid

Mrs. Glenarm drew confidentially closer to the bedside. "How can you manage it?" she asked, eagerly. "Don't

think me curious. I have my interest, too, in getting at the truth. Don't leave me out of it, pray!"

"We may possibly want his assistance. I can't tell yet. Don't keep Mrs. Delamayn waiting any longer, my

Her ladyship resigned herself to meditation, with frowning brow and closeshut lips. She looked her full age,

and a year or two more, as she lay thinking, with her head on her hand, and her elbow on the pillow. After

committing herself to the physician (and to the red lavender draught) the commonest regard for consistency

made it necessary that she should keep her bed for that day. And yet it was essential that the proposed

inquiries should be instantly set on foot. On the one hand, the problem was not an easy one to solve; on the

other, her ladyship was not an easy one to beat. How to send for the landlady at Craig Fernie, without

exciting any special suspicion or remarkwas the question before her. In less than five minutes she had

"I am afraid I frightened you, Hopkins. The state of my nerves. Mrs. Glenarm was a little sudden with some

news that surprised me. I am better nowand able to attend to the household matters. There is a mistake in

She took up the domestic ledger and the kitchen report; corrected the butcher; cautioned the cook; and

disposed of all arrears of domestic business before Hopkins was summoned again. Having, in this way,

dextrously prevented the woman from connecting any thing that her mistress said or did, after Mrs. Glenarm's

departure, with any thing that might have passed during Mrs. Glenarm's visit, Lady Lundie felt herself at

liberty to pave the way for the investigation on which she was determined to enter before she slept that night.

"So much for the indoor arrangements," she said. "You must be my prime minister, Hopkins, while I lie

helpless here. Is there any thing wanted by the people out of doors? The coachman? The gardener?"

"I have just seen the gardener, my lady. He came with last week's accounts. I told him he couldn't see your

"Surely, there was something I wanted to say to himor to somebody else? My memorandumbook,

Hopkins. In the basket, on that chair. Why wasn't the basket placed by my bedside?"

Hopkins brought the memorandumbook. Lady Lundie consulted it (without the slightest necessity), with the

same masterly gravity exhibited by the doctor when he wrote her prescription (without the slightest necessity

"Here it is," she said, recovering the lost remembrance. "Not the gardener, but the gardener's wife. A

memorandum to speak to her about Mrs. Inchbare. Observe, Hopkins, the association of ideas. Mrs. Inchbare

is associated with the poultry; the poultry are associated with the gardener's wife; the gardener's wife is

associated with the gardenerand so the gardener gets into my head. Do you see it? I am always trying to

improve your mind. You do see it? Very well. Now about Mrs. Inchbare? Has she been here again?"

"I am not at all sure, Hopkins, that I was right in declining to consider the message Mrs. Inchbare sent to me

about the poultry. Why shouldn't she offer to take any fowls that I can spare off my hands? She is a

respectable woman; and it is important to me to live on good terms with al my neighbors, great and small.

"I really don't seeon reflection, Hopkinswhy I should hesitate to deal with Mrs. Inchbare. (I don't think

it beneath me to sell the game killed on my estate to the poulterer.) What was it she wanted to buy? Some of

"Yes, my lady. Your ladyship's black Spaniards are famous all round the neighborhood. Nobody has got the

"Wants to share the distinction of having the breed with me," said Lady Lundie. "I won't appear ungracious. I

will see her myself, as soon as I am a little better, and tell her that I have changed my mind. Send one of the

men to Craig Fernie with a message. I can't keep a trifling matter of this sort in my memorysend him at

once, or I may forget it. He is to say I am willing to see Mrs. Inchbare, about the fowls, the first time she

"I am afraid, my ladyMrs. Inchbare's heart is so set on the black Spaniardsshe will find it convenient to

"In that case, you must take her to the gardener's wife. Say she is to have some eggson condition, of

Hopkins withdrew. Hopkins's mistress reclined on her comfortable pillows and fanned herself gently. The

vindictive smile reappeared on her face. "I fancy I shall be well enough to see Mrs. Inchbare," she thought to

herself. "And it is just possible that the conversation may get beyond the relative merits of her poultryyard

A lapse of little more than two hours proved Hopkins's estimate of the latent enthusiasm in Mrs. Inchbare's

character to have been correctly formed. The eager landlady appeared at Windygates on the heels of the

returning servant. Among the long list of human weaknesses, a passion for poultry seems to have its practical

advantages (in the shape of eggs) as compared with the more occult frenzies for collecting snuffboxes and

fiddles, and amassing autographs and old postagestamps. When the mistress of Craig Fernie was duly

announced to the mistress of Windygates, Lady Lundie developed a sense of humor for the first time in her

life. Her ladyship was feebly merry (the result, no doubt, of the exhilarating properties of the red lavender

"Most ridiculous, Hopkins! This poor woman must be suffering from a determination of poultry to the brain.

Ill as I am, I should have thought that nothing could amuse me. But, really, this good creature starting up, and

rushing here, as you say, as fast as her feet can carry herit's impossible to resist it! I positively think I must

see Mrs. Inchbare. With my active habits, this imprisonment to my room is dreadful. I can neither sleep nor

read. Any thing, Hopkins, to divert my mind from myself: It's easy to get rid of her if she is too much for me.

Mrs. Inchbare made her appearance, courtesying deferentially; amazed at the condescension which admitted

"Take a chair," said her ladyship, graciously. "I am suffering from illness, as you perceive."

"My certie! sick or well, yer leddyship's a braw sight to see!" returned Mrs. Inchbare profoundly impressed

by the elegant costume which illness assumes when illness appears in the regions of high life.

"I am far from being in a fit state to receive any body," proceeded Lady Lundie. "But I had a motive for

wishing to speak to you when you next came to my house. I failed to treat a proposal you made to me, a short

time since, in a friendly and neighborly way. I beg you to understand that I regret having forgotten the

consideration due from a person in my position to a person in yours. I am obliged to say this under very

unusual circumstances," added her ladyship, with a glance round her magnificent bedroom, "through your

unexpected promptitude in favoring me with a call. You have lost no time, Mrs. Inchbare, in profiting by the

"Eh, my leddy, I wasna' that sure (yer leddyship having ance changed yer mind) but that ye might e'en change

again if I failed to strike, as they say, while the iron's het. I crave yer pardon, I'm sure, if I ha' been ower

hasty. The pride o' my hairt's in my powltryand the black Spaniards' (as they ca' them) are a sair temptation

to me to break the tenth commandment, sae lang as they're a' in yer leddyship's possession, and nane o' them

"I am shocked to hear that I have been the innocent cause of your falling into temptation, Mrs. Inchbare!

"I must e'en be content wi' what yer leddyship will condescend on. A haitch o' eggs if I can come by naething

"Open the case on the table behind you," said Lady Lundie, "and you will find some writing paper inside.

Eagerly watched by Mrs. Inchbare, she wrote an order to the poultrywoman, and held it out with a gracious

"Take that to the gardener's wife. If you agree with her about the price, you can have the cock and the two

Mrs. Inchbare opened her lipsno doubt to express the utmost extremity of human gratitude. Before she had

said three words, Lady Lundie's impatience to reach the end which she had kept in view from the time when

Mrs. Glenarm had left the house burst the bounds which had successfully restrained it thus far. Stopping the

landlady without ceremony, she fairly forced the conversation to the subject of Anne Silvester's proceedings

"How are you getting on at the hotel, Mrs. Inchbare? Plenty of tourists, I suppose, at this time of year?"

"You had a visitor, I think, some time since of whom I know something? A person" She paused, and put a

strong constraint on herself. There was no alternative but to yield to the hard necessity of making her inquiry

intelligible. "A lady," she added, "who came to you about the middle of last month."

Lady Lundie put a still stronger constraint on herself. "Silvester," she said, sharply.

"Presairve us a'!" cried Mrs. Inchbare. "It will never be the same that cam' driftin' in by hersel'wi' a bit bag

in her hand, and a husband left daidling an hour or mair on the road behind her?"

"Will she be a freend o' yer leddyship's?" asked Mrs. Inchbare, feeling her ground cautiously.

"Certainly not!" said Lady Lundie. "I felt a passing curiosity about hernothing more."

Mrs. Inchbare looked relieved. "To tell ye truth, my leddy, there was nae love lost between us. She had a

maisterfu' temper o' her ainand I was weel pleased when I'd seen the last of her."

"I can quite understand that, Mrs. InchbareI know something of her temper myself. Did I understand you

to say that she came to your hotel alone, and that her husband joined her shortly afterward?"

"E'en sae, yer leddyship. I was no' free to gi' her houseroom in the hottle till her husband daidled in at her

"I fancy I must have seen her husband," said Lady Lundie. "What sort of a man was he?"

Mrs. Inchbare replied in much the same words which she had used in answering the similar question put by

"Eh! he was ower young for the like o' her. A pratty man, my leddybetwixt tall and short; wi' bonny brown

eyes and cheeks, and fine coalblaik hair. A nice doucespoken lad. I hae naething to say against

himexcept that he cam' late one day, and took legbail betimes the next morning, and left madam behind, a

The answer produced precisely the same effect on Lady Lundie which it had produced on Sir Patrick. She,

also, felt that it was too vaguely like too many young men of no uncommon humor and complexion to be

relied on. But her ladyship possessed one immense advantage over her brotherinlaw in attempting to arrive

at the truth. She suspected Arnoldand it was possible, in her case, to assist Mrs. Inchbare's memory by

hints contributed from her own superior resources of experience and observation.

"Had he any thing about him of the look and way of a sailor?" she asked. "And did you notice, when you

There he is, het aff to a T!" cried Mrs. Inchbare. "Yer leddyship's weel acquented wi' himthere's nae doot

"I thought I had seen him," said Lady Lundie. "A modest, wellbehaved young man, Mrs. Inchbare, as you

say. Don't let me keep you any longer from the poultryyard. I am transgressing the doctor's orders in seeing

any body. We quite understand each other now, don't we? Very glad to have seen you. Goodevening."

Most women, in her position, would have been content with the information which she had now obtained.

But Lady Lundiehaving a man like Sir Patrick to deal withdetermined to be doubly sure of her facts

before she ventured on interfering at Ham Farm. She had learned from Mrs. Inchbare that the socalled

husband of Anne Silvester had joined her at Craig Fernie on the day when she arrived at the inn, and had left

her again the next morning. Anne had made her escape from Windygates on the occasion of the

lawnpartythat is to say, on the fourteenth of August. On the same day Arnold Brinkworth had taken his

departure for the purpose of visiting the Scotch property left to him by his aunt. If Mrs. Inchbare was to be

depended on, he must have gone to Craig Fernie instead of going to his appointed destinationand must,

therefore, have arrived to visit his house and lands one day later than the day which he had originally set apart

for that purpose. If this fact could be proved, on the testimony of a disinterested witness, the case against

Arnold would be strengthened tenfold; and Lady Lundie might act on her discovery with something like a

After a little consideration she decided on sending a messenger with a note of inquiry addressed to Arnold's

steward. The apology she invented to excuse and account for the strangeness of the proposed question,

referred it to a little family discussion as to the exact date of Arnold's arrival at his estate, and to a friendly

wager in which the difference of opinion had ended. If the steward could state whether his employer had

arrived on the fourteenth or on the fifteenth of August, that was all that would be wanted to decide the

Having written in those terms, Lady Lundie gave the necessary directions for having the note delivered at the

earliest possible hour on the next morning; the messenger being ordered to make his way back to Windygates

This arranged, her ladyship was free to refresh herself with another dose of the red lavender draught, and to

sleep the sleep of the just who close their eyes with the composing conviction that they have done their duty.

The events of the next day at Windygates succeeded each other in due course, as follows:

The post arrived, and brought no reply from Sir Patrick. Lady Lundie entered that incident on her mental

He had referred to his Diary; and he had discovered that Mr. Brinkworth had written beforehand to announce

his arrival at his estate for the fourteenth of Augustbut that he had not actually appeared until the fifteenth.

The one discovery needed to substantiate Mrs. Inchbare's evidence being now in Lady Lundie's possession,

she decided to allow another day to passon the chance that Sir Patrick might al ter his mind, and write to

her. If no letter arrived, and if nothing more was received from Blanche, she resolved to leave Windygates by

the next morning's train, and to try the bold experiment of personal interference at Ham Farm.

The third in the succession of events was the appearance of the doctor to pay his professional visit.

A severe shock awaited him. He found his patient cured by the draught! It was contrary to all rule and

precedent; it savored of quackerythe red lavender had no business to do what the red lavender had

donebut there she was, nevertheless, up and dressed, and contemplating a journey to London on the next

day but one. "An act of duty, doctor, is involved in thiswhatever the sacrifice, I must go!" No other

explanation could be obtained. The patient was plainly determinednothing remained for the physician but

to retreat with unimpaired dignity and a paid fee. He did it. "Our art," he explained to Lady Lundie in

confidence, "is nothing, after all, but a choice between alternatives. For instance. I see younot cured, as

you thinkbut sustained by abnormal excitement. I have to ask which is the least of the two evilsto risk

letting you travel, or to irritate you by keeping you at home. With your constitution, we must risk the journey.

Be careful to keep the window of the carriage up on the side on which the wind blows. Let the extremities be

moderately warm, and the mind easyand pray don't omit to provide yourself with a second bottle of the

Mixture before you start." He made his bow, as beforehe slipped two guineas into his pocket, as

beforeand he went his way, as before, with an approving conscience, in the character of a physician who

had done his duty. (What an enviable profession is Medicine! And why don't we all belong to it?)

The narrative of her ladyship's discoveriesrecited at full length; and the announcement of her ladyship's

resolutiondeclared in the most uncompromising termsraised Mrs. Glenarm's excitement to the highest

"You go to town on Saturday?" she said. "I will go with you. Ever since that woman declared she should be

in London before me, I have been dying to hasten my journeyand it is such an opportunity to go with you!

I can easily manage it. My uncle and I were to have met in London, early next week, for the footrace. I have

only to write and tell him of my change of plans.Bytheby, talking of my uncle, I have heard, since I saw

"One morereceived by the lawyers this time. My unknown correspondent has written to them to withdraw

his proposal, and to announce that he has left Perth. The lawyers recommended me to stop my uncle from

spending money uselessly in employing the London police. I have forwarded their letter to the captain; and

he will probably be in town to see his solicitors as soon as I get there with you. So much for what I have done

in this matter. Dear Lady Lundiewhen we are at our journey's end, what do you mean to do?"

"My course is plain," answered her ladyship, calmly. "Sir Patrick will hear from me, on Sunday morning

"Certainly not! Telling him that I find myself called to London by business, and that I propose paying him a

"I think there is no doubt of that. Even his hatred of his brother's widow can hardly go to the lengthafter

"When I get there, my dear, I shall be breathing an atmosphere of treachery and deceit; and, for my poor

child's sake (abhorrent as all dissimulation is to me), I must be careful what I do. Not a word will escape my

lips until I have first seen Blanche in private. However painful it may be, I shall not shrink from my duty, if

my duty compels me to open her eyes to the truth. Sir Patrick and Mr. Brinkworth will have somebody else

besides an inexperienced young creature to deal with on Monday next. I shall be there."

With that formidable announcement, Lady Lundie closed the conversation; and Mrs. Glenarm rose to take her

"I CAN'T believe it! I won't believe it! You're trying to part me from my husbandyou're trying to set me

against my dearest friend. It's infamous. It's horrible. What have I done to you? Oh, my head! my head! Are

Pale and wild; her hands twisted in her hair; her feet hurrying her aimlessly to and fro in the roomso

Blanche answered her stepmother, when the object of Lady Lundie's pilgrimage had been accomplished,

Her ladyship sat, superbly composed, looking out through the window at the placid landscape of woods and

"I was prepared for this outbreak," she said, sadly. "These wild words relieve your overburdened heart, my

"You and I never liked each other," she said. "I wrote you a pert letter from this place. I have always taken

Anne's part against you. I have shown you plainlyrudely, I dare saythat I was glad to be married and get

"Oh, Blanche, Blanche, what thoughts to think! what words to say! I can only pray for you."

"I am mad, Lady Lundie. You bear with mad people. Bear with me. I have been hardly more than a fortnight

married. I love himI love herwith all my heart. Remember what you have told me about them.

She reiterated the words with a low cry of pain. Her hands went up to her head again; and she returned

Lady Lundie tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance. "For your own sake," she said, "don't persist in

estranging yourself from me. In this dreadful trial, I am the only friend you have."

Blanche came back to her stepmother's chair; and looked at her steadily, in silence. Lady Lundie submitted

Blanche heard, without heeding. Her mind was painfully intent on its own thoughts. "You are a religious

woman," she said, abruptly. "Will you swear on your Bible, that what you told me is true?"

"My Bible!" repeated Lady Lundie with sorrowful emphasis. "Oh, my child! have you no part in that precious

A momentary triumph showed itself in Blanche's face. "You daren't swear it!" she said. "That's enough for

She turned away scornfully. Lady Lundie caught her by the hand, and drew her sharply back. The suffering

saint disappeared, and the woman who was no longer to be trifled with took her place.

"There must be an end to this," she said. "You don't believe what I have told you. Have you courage enough

Blanche started, and released her hand. She trembled a little. There was a horrible certainty of conviction

"You shall see. Tell me the truth, on your side, first. Where is Sir Patrick? Is he really out, as his servant told

"Yes. He is out with the farm bailiff. You have taken us all by surprise. You wrote that we were to expect you

Blanche advanced a stepand drew back. "What do you want of me?" she asked, inspired by a sudden

"Can't you see yet," she said, sharply, "that your interest and my interest in this matter are one? What have I

"I must repeat it! I have told you that Arnold Brinkworth was privately at Craig Fernie, with Miss Silvester,

in the acknowledged character of her husbandwhen we supposed him to be visiting the estate left him by

his aunt. You refuse to believe itand I am about to put it to the proof. Is it your interest or is it not, to know

"I am going into the garden, to speak to Mr. Brinkworth through the smokingroom window," pursued her

ladyship. "Have you the courage to come with me; to wait behind out of sight; and to hear what he says with

"If I believed him to be guilty," she said, resolutely, "I should not have the courage. I believe him to be

They left the roomBlanche's own room at Ham Farmand descended to the hall. Lady Lundie stopped,

"There is a train to London at a quarter to twelve," she said. "How long does it take to walk to the station?"

The smokingroom projected at right angles from the wall of the house, in an oblong formwith a

bowwindow at the farther end, looking into the garden. Before she turned the corner, and showed herself

within the range of view from the window Lady Lundie looked back, and signed to Blanche to wait behind

The next instant she heard the voices in conversation through the open window. Arnold's voice was the first

"I was able to leave town earlier than I had anticipated. Don't put out your cigar; and don't move. I am not

The quick interchange of question and answer went on; every word being audible in the perfect stillness of

"Blanche is getting ready to go out with me. We mean to have a walk together. I have many things to say to

"About you. I know where you went on the evening of my lawnparty at Windygatesyou went to Craig

"I know whom you went to meetMiss Silvester. I know what is said of you and of heryou are man and

"What does it matter if they do? I am the only person whom you have kept out of the secret. You all of you

"What! Neither you nor Sir Patrick has told Blanche of the situation you stand in at this moment?"

"Not yet. Sir Patrick leaves it to me. I haven't been able to bring myself to do it. Don't say a word, I entreat

you. I don't know how Blanche may interpret it. Her friend is expected in London tomorrow. I want to wait

till Sir Patrick can bring them together. Her friend will break it to her better than I can. It's my notion. Sir

Her ladyship appeared again round the angle of the wall. The next words that passed were words spoken in a

ARNOLD'S mind was far from easy when he was left by himself again in the smokingroom.

After wasting some time in vainly trying to guess at the source from which Lady Lundie had derived her

information, he put on his hat, and took the direction which led to Blanche's favorite walk at Ham Farm.

Without absolutely distrusting her ladyship's discretion, the idea had occurred to him that he would do well to

join his wife and her stepmother. By making a third at the interview between them, he might prevent the

The search for the ladies proved useless. They had not taken the direction in which he supposed them to have

He returned to the smokingroom, and composed himself to wait for events as patiently as he might. In this

passive positionwith his thoughts still running on Lady Lundiehis memory reverted to a brief

conversation between Sir Patrick and himself, occasioned, on the previous day, by her ladyship's

announcement of her proposed visit to Ham Farm. Sir Patrick had at once expressed his conviction that his

"I am not at all sure, Arnold" (he had said), "that I have done wisely in leaving her letter unanswered. And I

am strongly disposed to think that the safest course will be to take her into the secret when she comes

tomorrow. We can't help the position in which we are placed. It was impossible (without admitting your

wife to our confidence) to prevent Blanche from writing that unlucky letter to herand, even if we had

prevented it, she must have heard in other ways of your return to England. I don't doubt my own discretion,

so far; and I don't doubt the convenience of keeping her in the dark, as a means of keeping her from meddling

in this business of yours, until I have had time to set it right. But she may, by some unlucky accident,

discover the truth for herselfand, in that case, I strongly distrust the influence which she might attempt to

Those were the wordsand what had happened on the day after they had been spoken? Lady Lundie

had discovered the truth; and she was, at that moment, alone somewhere with Blanche. Arnold took up his

The second expedition was as fruitless as the first. Nothing was to be seen, and nothing was to be heard, of

Arnold's watch told him that it was not far from the time when Sir Patrick might be expected to return. In all

probability, while he had been looking for them, the ladies had gone back by some other way to the house. He

entered the rooms on the groundfloor, one after another. They were all empty. He went up stairs, and

knocked at the door of Blanche's room. There was no answer. He opened the door and looked in. The room

was empty, like the rooms down stairs. But, close to the entrance, there was a trifling circumstance to attract

notice, in the shape of a note lying on the carpet. He picked it up, and saw that it was addressed to him in the

He opened it. The note began, without the usual form of address, in these words:

"I know the abominable secret that you and my uncle have hidden from me. I know your infamy, and

her infamy, and the position in which, thanks to you and to her, I now stand. Reproaches would be wasted

words, addressed to such a man as you are. I write these lines to tell you that I have placed myself under my

stepmother's protection in London. It is useless to attempt to follow me. Others will find out whether the

ceremony of marriage which you went through with me is binding on you or not. For myself, I know enough

already. I have gone, never to come back, and never to let you see me again.Blanche."

Hurrying headlong down the stairs with but one clear idea in his mindthe idea of instantly following his

wifeArnold encountered Sir Patrick, standing by a table in the hall, on which cards and notes left by

visitors were usually placed, with an open letter in his hand. Seeing in an instant what had happened, he

Sir Patrick let the irrepressible outbreak of grief have its way. In those first moments, silence was mercy. He

said nothing. The letter which he had been reading (from Lady Lundie, it is needless to say), dropped

"Wrong, my poor fellowdoubly wrong!" returned Sir Patrick. "There is no shame in shedding such tears as

"Read that," said Sir Patrick, pointing to the letter on the floor. "See your wife? Your wife is with the woman

"DEAR SIR PATRICK,If you had honored me with your confidence, I should have been happy to consult

you before I interfered to rescue Blanche from the position in which Mr. Brinkworth has placed her. As it is,

your late brother's child is under my protection at my house in London. If you attempt to exercise your

authority, it must be by main forceI will submit to nothing less. If Mr. Brinkworth attempts to exercise

his authority, he shall establish his right to do so (if he can) in a policecourt.

Arnold's resolution was not to be shaken even by this. "What do I care," he burst out, hotly, "whether I am

dragged through the streets by the police or not! I will see my wife. I will clear myself of the horrible

Sir Patrick's clear sense saw the wild words that Blanche had written in their true light.

"Do you hold your wife responsible for that letter?" be asked. "I see her stepmother in every line of it. You

descend to something unworthy of you, if you seriously defend yourself against this! You can't see it? You

persist in holding to your own view? Write, then. You can't get to heryour letter may. No! When you leave

this house, you leave it with me. I have conceded something on my side, in allowing you to write. I insist on

your conceding something, on your side, in return. Come into the library! I answer for setting things right

between you and Blanche, if you will place your interests in my hands. Do you trust me or not?"

Arnold yielded. They went into the library together. Sir Patrick pointed to the writingtable. "Relieve your

mind there," he said. "And let me find you a reasonable man again when I come back."

When he returned to the library the letter was written; and Arnold's mind was so far relievedfor the time at

"I shall take your letter to Blanche myself," said Sir Patrick, "by the train that leaves for London in half an

"Not today. I shall be back this evening to dinner. You shall hear all that has happened; and you shall

accompany me to London tomorrowif I find it necessary to make any lengthened stay there. Between this

and then, after the shock that you have suffered, you will do well to be quiet here. Be satisfied with my

assurance that Blanche shall have your letter. I will force my authority on her stepmother to that extent (if

her stepmother resists) without scruple. The respect in which I hold the sex only lasts as long as the sex

deserves itand does not extend to Lady Lundie. There is no advantage that a man can take of a woman

With that characteristic farewell, he shook hands with Arnold, and departed for the station.

At seven o'clock the dinner was on the table. At seven o'clock Sir Patrick came down stairs to eat it, as

"She has got your letter," he whispered, as he took Arnold's arm, and led him into the diningroom.

The dinner began. As a matter of necessity, the subject of Sir Patrick's expedition was dropped while the

servants were in the roomto be regularly taken up again by Arnold in the intervals between the courses. He

"I confess I had hoped to see Blanche come back with you!" he said, sadly enough.

"In other words," returned Sir Patrick, "you forgot the native obstinacy of the sex. Blanche is beginning to

feel that she has been wrong. What is the necessary consequence? She naturally persists in being wrong. Let

her alone, and leave your letter to have its effect. The serious difficulties in our way don't rest with Blanche.

The fish came in, and Arnold was silenceduntil his next opportunity came with the next interval in the

"The difficulties are my difficulties and yours," answered Sir Patrick. "My difficulty is, that I can't assert my

authority, as guardian, if I assume my niece (as I do) to be a married woman. Your difficulty is, that you can't

assert your authority as her husband, until it is distinctly proved that you and Miss Silvester are not man and

wife. Lady Lundie was perfectly aware that she would place us in that position, when she removed Blanche

from this house. She has crossexamined Mrs. Inchbare; she has written to your steward for the date of your

arrival at your estate; she has done every thing, calculated every thing, and foreseen every thingexcept my

excellent temper. The one mistake she has made, is in thinking she could get the better of that. No, my dear

boy! My trump card is my temper. I keep it in my hand, ArnoldI keep it in my hand!"

The next course came inand there was an end of the subject again. Sir Patrick enjoyed his mutton, and

entered on a long and interesting narrative of the history of some rare white Burgundy on the table imported

by himself. Arnold resolutely resumed the discussion with the departure of the mutton.

"For Heaven's sake, Sir, consider my anxiety, and tell me what you propose to do!"

"I propose to take you to London with me tomorrow, on this conditionthat you promise me, on your word

The next course came in. Sir Patrick entered on the question of the merits of the partridge, viewed as an

eatable bird, "By himself, Arnoldplainly roasted, and tested on his own meritsan overrated bird. Being

too fond of shooting him in this country, we become too fond of eating him next. Properly understood, he is a

vehicle for sauce and trufflesnothing more. Or nothat is hardly doing him justice. I am bound to add that

he is honorably associated with the famous French receipt for cooking an olive. Do you know it?"

There was an end of the bird; there was an end of the jelly. Arnold got his next chanceand took it.

"Tomorrow," answered Sir Patrick, "is a memorable day in our calendar. Tomorrow is Tuesdaythe day

"After what has happened," he said, "I can hardly bear to hear her name mentioned. Miss Silvester has parted

"What does the new generation know? It knows how to row, how to shoot, how to play at cricket, and how to

bat. When it has lost its muscle and lost its moneythat is to say, when it has grown oldwhat a generation

it will be! It doesn't matter: I sha'n't live to see it. Are you listening, Arnold?"

"How to cook an olive! Put an olive into a lark, put a lark into a quail; put a quail into a plover; put a plover

into a partridge; put a partridge into a pheasant; put a pheasant into a turkey. Good. First, partially roast, then

carefully stewuntil all is thoroughly done down to the olive. Good again. Next, open the window. Throw

out the turkey, the pheasant, the partridge, the plover, the quail, and the lark. Then, eat the olive. The dish is

expensive, but (we have it on the highest authority) well worth the sacrifice. The quintessence of the flavor of

six birds, concentrated in one olive. Grand idea! Try another glass of the white Burgundy, Arnold."

"I have borne it as long as I can, Sir," said Arnold. "Add to all your kindness to me by telling me at once what

It was a chilly evening. A bright wood fire was burning in the room. Sir Patrick drew his chair to the fire.

"This is exactly what happened," he said. "I found company at Lady Lundie's, to begin with. Two perfect

strangers to me. Captain Newenden, and his niece, Mrs. Glenarm. Lady Lundie offered to see me in another

room; the two strangers offered to withdraw. I declined both proposals. First check to her ladyship! She has

reckoned throughout, Arnold, on our being afraid to face public opinion. I showed her at starting that we were

as ready to face it as she was. 'I always accept what the French call accomplished facts,' I said. 'You have

brought matters to a crisis, Lady Lundie. So let it be. I have a word to say to my niece (in your presence, if

you like); and I have another word to say to you afterwardwithout presuming to disturb your guests.' The

guests sat down again (both naturally devoured by curiosity). Could her ladyship decently refuse me an

interview with my own niece, while two witnesses were looking on? Impossible. I saw Blanche (Lady Lundie

being present, it is needless to say) in the back drawingroom. I gave her your letter; I said a good word for

you; I saw that she was sorry, though she wouldn't own itand that was enough. We went back into the front

drawingroom. I had not spoken five words on our side of the question before it appeared, to my

astonishment and delight, that Captain Newenden was in the house on the very question that had brought me

into the housethe question of you and Miss Silvester. My business, in the interests of my niece, was to

deny your marriage to the lady. His business, in the interests of his niece, was to assert your marriage to the

lady. To the unutterable disgust of the two women, we joined issue, in the most friendly manner, on the spot.

'Charmed to have the pleasure of meeting you, Captain Newenden.''Delighted to have the honor of making

your acquaintance, Sir Patrick.''I think we can settle this in two minutes?''My own idea perfectly

expressed.''State your position, Captain.''With the greatest pleasure. Here is my niece, Mrs. Glenarm,

engaged to marry Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn. All very well, but there happens to be an obstaclein the shape

of a lady. Do I put it plainly?''You put it admirably, Captain; but for the loss to the British navy, you ought

to have been a lawyer. Pray, go on.''You are too good, Sir Patrick. I resume. Mr. Delamayn asserts that this

person in the background has no claim on him, and backs his assertion by declaring that she is married

already to Mr. Arnold Brinkworth. Lady Lundie and my niece assure me, on evidence which satisfies

them, that the assertion is true. The evidence does not satisfy me. 'I hope, Sir Patrick, I don't strike you as

being an excessively obstinate man?''My dear Sir, you impress me with the highest opinion of your

capacity for sifting human testimony! May I ask, next, what course you mean to take?''The very thing I

was going to mention, Sir Patrick! This is my course. I refuse to sanction my niece's engagement to Mr.

Delamayn, until Mr. Delamayn has actually proved his statement by appeal to witnesses of the lady's

marriage. He refers me to two witnesses; but declines acting at once in the matter for himself, on the ground

that he is in training for a footrace. I admit that that is an obstacle, and consent to arrange for bringing the

two witnesses to London myself. By this post I have written to my lawyers in Perth to look the witnesses up;

to offer them the necessary terms (at Mr. Delamayn's expense) for the use of their time; and to produce them

by the end of the week. The footrace is on Thursday next. Mr. Delamayn will be able to attend after that, and

establish his own assertion by his own witnesses. What do you say, Sir Patrick, to Saturday next (with Lady

Lundie's permission) in this room?'There is the substance of the captain's statement. He is as old as I am

and is dressed to look like thirty; but a very pleasant fellow for all that. I struck my sisterinlaw dumb by

accepting the proposal without a moment's hesitation. Mrs. Glenarm and Lady Lundie looked at each other in

mute amazement. Here was a difference about which two women would have mortally quarreled; and here

were two men settling it in the friendliest possible manner. I wish you had seen Lady Lundie's face, when I

declared myself deeply indebted to Captain Newenden for rendering any prolonged interview with her

ladyship quite unnecessary. 'Thanks to the captain,' I said to her, in the most cordial manner, 'we have

absolutely nothing to discuss. I shall catch the next train, and set Arnold Brinkworth's mind quite at ease.' To

come back to serious things, I have engaged to produce you, in the presence of every bodyyour wife

includedon Saturday next. I put a bold face on it before the others. But I am bound to tell you that it is by

no means easy to saysituated as we are nowwhat the result of Saturday's inquiry will be. Every thing

depends on the issue of my interview with Miss Silvester tomorrow. It is no exaggeration to say, Arnold,

"Lay the saddle on the right horse," returned Sir Patrick. "Wish you had never set eyes on Geoffrey

Arnold hung his head. Sir Patrick's sharp tongue had got the better of him once more.

THE manytoned murmur of the current of London lifeflowing through the murky channel of Drury

Lanefound its muffled way from the front room to the back. Piles of old music lumbered the dusty floor.

Stage masks and weapons, and portraits of singers and dancers, hung round the walls. An empty violin case

in one corner faced a broken bust of Rossini in another. A frameless print, representing the Trial of Queen

Caroline, was pasted over the fireplace. The chairs were genuine specimens of ancient carving in oak. The

table was an equally excellent example of dirty modern deal. A small morsel of drugget was on the floor; and

a large deposit of soot was on the ceiling. The scene thus presented, revealed itself in the back drawingroom

of a house in Drury Lane, devoted to the transaction of musical and theatrical business of the humbler sort. It

was late in the afternoon, on Michaelmasday. Two persons were seated together in the room: they were

The opening conversation between themcomprising, on one side, the narrative of what had happened at

Perth and at Swanhaven; and, on the other, a statement of the circumstances attending the separation of

Arnold and Blanchehad come to an end. It rested with Sir Patrick to lead the way to the next topic. He

"Do you feel strong enough to go on?" he asked. "If you would prefer to rest a little, pray say so."

"Thank you, Sir Patrick. I am more than ready, I a m eager, to go on. No words can say how anxious I feel to

be of some use to you, if I can. It rests entirely with your experience to show me how."

"I can only do that, Miss Silvester, by asking you without ceremony for all the information that I want. Had

you any object in traveling to London, which you have not mentioned to me yet? I mean, of course, any

object with which I hare a claim (as Arnold Brinkworth's representative) to be acquainted?"

"I only arrived," said Anne, "after waiting many days on the journey. I was obliged to rest at Edinburgh, and

again at Yorkand I was afraid I had given Mrs. Glenarm time enough to get to Geoffrey Delamayn before

"Afraid?" repeated Sir Patrick. "I understood that you had no serious intention of disputing the scoundrel with

"What! the idea that it rested with Delamayn to set things right? and that you might bribe him to do it, by

"Bear with my folly, Sir Patrick, as patiently as you can! I am always alone now; and I get into a habit of

brooding over things. I have been brooding over the position in which my misfortunes have placed Mr.

Brinkworth. I have been obstinateunreasonably obstinatein believing that I could prevail with Geoffrey

Delamayn, after I had failed with Mrs. Glenarm. I am obstinate about it still. If he would only have heard me,

my madness in going to Fulham might have had its excuse." She sighed bitterly, and said no more.

"It has its excuse," he said, kindly. "Your motive is beyond reproach. Let me addto quiet your mindthat,

even if Delamayn had been willing to hear you, and had accepted the condition, the result would still have

been the same. You are quite wrong in supposing that he has only to speak, and to set this matter right. It has

passed entirely beyond his control. The mischief was done when Arnold Brinkworth spent those unlucky

"Oh, Sir Patrick, if I had only known that, before I went to Fulham this morning!"

She shuddered as she said the words. Something was plainly associated with her visit to Geoffrey, the bare

remembrance of which shook her nerves. What was it? Sir Patrick resolved to obtain an answer to that

question, before be ventured on proceeding further with the main object of the interview.

"You have told me your reason for going to Fulham," he said. "But I have not heard what happened there

Anne hesitated. "Is it necessary for me to trouble you about that?" she askedwith evident reluctance to

"It is absolutely necessary," answered Sir Patrick, "because Delamayn is concerned in it."

"The person who carries on the business here discovered the address for me," she began. "I had some

difficulty, however, in finding the house. It is little more than a cottage; and it is quite lost in a great garden,

surrounded by high walls. I saw a carriage waiting. The coachman was walking his horses up and

downand he showed me the door. It was a high wooden door in the wall, with a grating in it. I rang the

bell. A servantgirl opened the grating, and looked at me. She refused to let me in. Her mistress had ordered

her to close the door on all strangersespecially strangers who were women. I contrived to pass some

money to her through the grating, and asked to speak to her mistress. After waiting some time, I saw another

face behind the barsand it struck me that I recognized it. I suppose I was nervous. It startled me. I said, 'I

think we know each other.' There was no answer. The door was suddenly openedand who do you think

"Yes. Dressed just as usual, and looking just as usualwith her slate hanging at her side."

"Astonishing! Where did I last see her? At the Windygates station, to be suregoing to London, after she

had left my sisterinlaw's service. Has she accepted another placewithout letting me know first, as I told

"What! Hester Dethridge in possession of a house of her own? Well! well! why shouldn't she have a rise in

"She stood for some time looking at me, in that dull strange way that she has. The servants at Windygates

always said she was not in her right mindand you will say, Sir Patrick, when you hear what happened, that

the servants were not mistaken. She must be mad. I said, 'Don't you remember me?' She lifted her slate, and

wrote, 'I remember you, in a dead swoon at Windygates House.' I was quite unaware that she had been

present when I fainted in the library. The discovery startled meor that dreadful, deadcold look that she

has in her eyes startled meI don't know which. I couldn't speak to her just at first. She wrote on her slate

againthe strangest questionin these words: 'I said, at the time, brought to it by a man. Did I say true?' If

the question had been put in the usual way, by any body else, I should have considered it too insolent to be

noticed. Can you understand my answering it, Sir Patrick? I can't understand it myself, nowand yet I did

"The next thing she did was to let me in. She took me by the arm, in a rough way, and drew me inside the

door, and shut it. My nerves are broken; my courage is gone. I crept with cold when she touched me. She

dropped my arm. I stood like a child, waiting for what it pleased her to say or do next. She rested her two

hands on her sides, and took a long look at me. She made a horrid dumb soundnot as if she was angry;

more, if such a thing could be, as if she was satisfiedpleased even, I should have said, if it had been any

"Not yet. Let me get nearer to understanding it by asking something before you go on. Did she show any

"Not the least. She appeared to be incapable of attachment to me, or to any body."

"Yes. She wrote another question under what she had written just before. Her mind was still running on my

fainting fit, and on the 'man' who had 'brought me to it.' She held up the slate; and the words were these: 'Tell

me how he served you, did he knock you down?' Most people would have laughed at the question. I was

startled by it. I told her, No. She shook her head as if she didn't believe me. She wrote on her slate, 'We are

loth to own it when they up with their fists and beat usain't we?' I said, 'You are quite wrong.' She went on

obstinately with her writing. 'Who is the man?'was her next question. I had control enough over myself to

decline telling her that. She opened the door, and pointed to me to go out. I made a sign entreating her to wait

a little. She went back, in her impenetrable way, to the writing on the slatestill about the 'man.' This time,

the question was plainer still. She had evidently placed her own interpretation of my appearance at the house.

She wrote, 'Is it the man who lodges here?' I saw that she would close the door on me if I didn't answer. My

only chance with her was to own that she had guessed right. I said 'Yes. I want to see him.' She took me by

"I begin to understand her," said Sir Patrick. "I remember hearing, in my brother's time, that she had been

brutally illused by her husband. The association of id eas, even in her confused brain, becomes plain, if you

bear that in mind. What is her last remembrance of you? It is the remembrance of a fainting woman at

"She makes you acknowledge that she has guessed right, in guessing that a man was, in some way,

answerable for the condition in which she found you. A swoon produced by a shock indicted on the mind, is a

swoon that she doesn't understand. She looks back into her own experience, and associates it with the

exercise of actual physical brutality on the part of the man. And she sees, in you, a reflection of her own

sufferings and her own case. It's curiousto a student of human nature. And it explains, what is otherwise

unintelligibleher overlooking her own instructions to the servant, and letting you into the house. What

"She took me into a room, which I suppose was her own room. She made signs, offering me tea. It was done

in the strangest waywithout the least appearance of kindness. After what you have just said to me, I think I

can in some degree interpret what was going on in her mind. I believe she felt a hardhearted interest in

seeing a woman whom she supposed to be as unfortunate as she had once been herself. I declined taking any

tea, and tried to return to the subject of what I wanted in the house. She paid no heed to me. She pointed

round the room; and then took me to a window, and pointed round the gardenand then made a sign

indicating herself. 'My house; and my garden'that was what she meant. There were four men in the

gardenand Geoffrey Delamayn was one of them. I made another attempt to tell her that I wanted to speak

to him. But, no! She had her own idea in her mind. After beckoning to me to leave the window, she led the

way to the fireplace, and showed me a sheet of paper with writing on it, framed and placed under a glass,

and hung on the wall. She seemed, I thought, to feel some kind of pride in her framed manuscript. At any

"Yes. Her brother's will. It said, that he regretted, on his deathbed, his estrangement from his only sister,

dating from the time when she had married in defiance of his wishes and against his advice. As a proof of his

sincere desire to be reconciled with her, before he died, and as some compensation for the sufferings that she

had endured at the hands of her deceased husband, he left her an income of two hundred pounds a year,

together with the use of his house and garden, for her lifetime. That, as well as I remember, was the substance

"Creditable to her brother, and creditable to herself," said Sir Patrick. "Taking her odd character into

consideration, I understand her liking it to be seen. What puzzles me, is her letting lodgings with an income

"That was the very question which I put to her myself. I was obliged to be cautious, and to begin by asking

about the lodgers firstthe men being still visible out in the garden, to excuse the inquiry. The rooms to let

in the house had (as I understood her) been taken by a person acting for Geoffrey Delamaynhis trainer, I

presume. He had surprised Hester Dethridge by barely noticing the house, and showing the most

"That is quite intelligible, Miss Silvester. The garden you have described would be just the place he wanted

for the exercises of his employerplenty of space, and well secured from observation by the high walls all

"Next, I got to the question of why she should let her house in lodgings at all. When I asked her that, her face

turned harder than ever. She answered me on her slate in these dismal words: 'I have not got a friend in the

world. I dare not live alone.' There was her reason! Dreary and dreadful, Sir Patrick, was it not?"

"Yesat the second attempt. She seemed suddenly to change her mind; she opened the door for me herself.

Passing the window of the room in which I had left her, I looked back. She had taken her place, at a table

before the window, apparently watching for what might happen. There was something about her, as her eyes

met mine (I can't say what), which made me feel uneasy at the time. Adopting your view, I am almost

inclined to think now, horrid as the idea is, that she had the expectation of seeing me treated as she had been

treated in former days. It was actually a relief to methough I knew I was going to run a serious riskto

lose sight of her. As I got nearer to the men in the garden, I heard two of them talking very earnestly to

Geoffrey Delamayn. The fourth person, an elderly gentleman, stood apart from the rest at some little distance.

I kept as far as I could out of sight, waiting till the talk was over. It was impossible for me to help hearing it.

The two men were trying to persuade Geoffrey Delamayn to speak to the elderly gentleman. They pointed to

him as a famous medical man. They reiterated over and over again, that his opinion was well worth

"The man himself! This is even more interesting, Miss Silvester, than you suppose. I myself heard Mr.

Speedwell warn Delamayn that he was in broken health, when we were visiting together at Windygates

House last month. Did he do as the other men wished him? Did he speak to the surgeon?"

"No. He sulkily refusedhe remembered what you remember. He said, 'See the man who told me I was

broken down?not I!' After confirming it with an oath, he turned away from the others. Unfortunately, he

took the direction in which I was standing, and discovered me. The bare sight of me seemed to throw him

instantly into a state of frenzy. Heit is impossible for me to repeat the language that he used: it is bad

enough to have heard it. I believe, Sir Patrick, but for the two men, who ran up and laid hold of him, that

Hester Dethridge would have seen what she expected to see. The change in him was so frightfuleven to

me, well as I thought I knew him in his fits of passionI tremble when I think of it. One of the men who had

restrained him was almost as brutal, in his way. He declared, in the foulest language, that if Delamayn had a

fit, he would lose the race, and that I should be answerable for it. But for Mr. Speedwell, I don't know what I

should have done. He came forward directly. 'This is no place either for you, or for me,' he saidand gave

me his arm, and led me back to the house. Hester Dethridge met us in the passage, and lifted her hand to stop

me. Mr. Speedwell asked her what she wanted. She looked at me, and then looked toward the garden, and

made the motion of striking a blow with her clenched fist. For the first time in my experience of herI hope

it was my fancyI thought I saw her smile. Mr. Speedwell took me out. 'They are well matched in that

house,' he said. 'The woman is as complete a savage as the men.' The carriage which I had seen waiting at the

door was his. He called it up, and politely offered me a place in it. I said I would only trespass on his

kindness as far as to the railway station. While we were talking, Hester Dethridge followed us to the door.

She made the same motion again with her clenched hand, and looked back toward the gardenand then

looked at me, and nodded her head, as much as to say, 'He will do it yet!' No words can describe how glad I

was to see the last of her. I hope and trust I shall never set eyes on her again!"

"Did you hear how Mr. Speedwell came to be at the house? Had he gone of his own accord? or had he been

"He had been sent for. I ventured to speak to him about the persons whom I had seen in the garden. Mr.

Speedwell explained everything which I was not able of myself to understand, in the kindest manner. One of

the two strange men in the garden was the trainer; the other was a doctor, whom the trainer was usually in the

habit of consulting. It seems that the real reason for their bringing Geof frey Delamayn away from Scotland

when they did, was that the trainer was uneasy, and wanted to be near London for medical advice. The

doctor, on being consulted, owned that he was at a loss to understand the symptoms which he was asked to

treat. He had himself fetched the great surgeon to Fulham, that morning. Mr. Speedwell abstained from

mentioning that he had foreseen what would happen, at Windygates. All he said was, 'I had met Mr.

Delamayn in society, and I felt interest enough in the case to pay him a visitwith what result, you have

"He said that he had questioned the doctor on the way to Fulham, and that some of the patient's symptoms

indicated serious mischief. What the symptoms were I did not hear. Mr. Speedwell only spoke of changes for

the worse in him which a woman would be likely to understand. At one time, he would be so dull and

heedless that nothing could rouse him. At another, he flew into the most terrible passions without any

apparent cause. The trainer had found it almost impossible (in Scotland) to keep him to the right diet; and the

doctor had only sanctioned taking the house at Fulham, after being first satisfied, not only of the convenience

of the garden, but also that Hester Dethridge could be thoroughly trusted as a cook. With her help, they had

placed him on an entirely new diet. But they had found an unexpected difficulty even in doing that. When the

trainer took him to the new lodgings, it turned out that he had seen Hester Dethridge at Windygates, and had

taken the strongest prejudice against her. On seeing her again at Fulham, he appeared to be absolutely

"Nobody knows why. The trainer and the doctor together could only prevent his leaving the house, by

threatening to throw up the responsibility of preparing him for the race, unless he instantly controlled himself,

and behaved like a man instead of a child. Since that time, he has become reconciled, little by little, to his

new abodepartly through Hester Dethridge's caution in keeping herself always out of his way; and partly

through his own appreciation of the change in his diet, which Hester's skill in cookery has enabled the doctor

to make. Mr. Speedwell mentioned some things which I have forgotten. I can only repeat, Sir Patrick, the

result at which he has arrived in his own mind. Coming from a man of his authority, the opinion seems to me

to be startling in the last degree. If Geoffrey Delamayn runs in the race on Thursday next, he will do it at the

"We have not wasted our time," he said, "in dwelling on what happened during your visit to Fulham. The

possibility of this man's death suggests to my mind serious matter for consideration. It is very desirable, in the

interests of my niece and her husband, that I should be able to foresee, if I can, how a fatal result of the race

might affect the inquiry which is to be held on Saturday next. I believe you may be able to help me in this."

"You thoroughly understand that, in meeting Blanche, you will meet a person estranged from you, for the

presenta friend and sister who has ceased (under Lady Lundie's influence mainly) to feel as a friend and

"I was not quite unprepared, Sir Patrick, to hear that Blanche had misjudged me. When I wrote my letter to

Mr. Brinkworth, I warned him as delicately as I could, that his wife's jealousy might be very easily roused.

You may rely on my selfrestraint, no matter how hardly it may be tried. Nothing that Blanche can say or do

will alter my grateful remembrance of the past. While I live, I love her. Let that assurance quiet any little

anxiety that you may have felt as to my conductand tell me how I can serve those interests which I have at

"You can serve them, Miss Silvester, in this way. You can make me acquainted with the position in which

"I will begin by recalling something which you have already told me. Delamayn has promised you

"You referred, when we first met in this room, to a letter which you recovered from Bishopriggs, at Perth. I

have ascertained from Arnold Brinkworth that the sheet of notepaper stolen from you contained two letters.

One was written by you to Delamaynthe other was written by Delamayn to you. The substance of this last

Arnold remembered. Your letter he had not read. It is of the utmost importance, Miss Silvester, to let me see

Anne made no answer. She sat with her clasped hands on her lap. Her eyes looked uneasily away from Sir

"Will it not be enough," she asked, after an interval, "if I tell you the substance of my letter, without showing

"It will not be enough," returned Sir Patrick, in the plainest manner. "I hintedif you rememberat the

propriety of my seeing the letter, when you first mentioned it, and I observed that you purposely abstained

from understanding me, I am grieved to put you, on this occasion, to a painful test. But if you are to help me

Anne rose from her chair, and answered by putting the letter into Sir Patrick's hands. "Remember what he has

done, since I wrote that," she said. "And try to excuse me, if I own that I am ashamed to show it to you now."

With those words she walked aside to the window. She stood there, with her hand pressed on her breast,

looking out absently on the murky London view of house roof and chimney, while Sir Patrick opened the

It is necessary to the right appreciation of events, that other eyes besides Sir Patrick's should follow the brief