some day. If she had only had
the capacity to have despatched that letter she had written when she
believed she was dying, after him to Australia! Could she send it to
him yet? She hesitated: she could hardly bring herself to compromise
the dignity of Alice, and her own. She had a short talk with him
before they separated for the night.

"I think you should go home by railway to-morrow," he said. "It is
blowing fresh now, and the trains will all be running to-morrow. I am
sorry I have to go by the first in the morning, so I shall probably
not see you then,"

"I don't know," she said: "it is a question if Alice will be able to
travel at all to-morrow."

"She is not ill, is she?" he said. "It is only a little fatigue from
exposure that ails her, isn't it?"

"But it may have bad consequences," said Lady Arthur: "one never can
tell;" and she spoke in an injured way, for George's tones were not
encouraging. "And John, my coachman--I haven't seen him--he ought to
have been at hand at least: if I could depend on any one, I thought it
was him."

"Why, he was overcome in the drift to-day: your other man had to leave
him behind and ride forward for help. It was digging him out of the
snow that kept us so long in getting to you. He has been in bed ever
since, but he is getting round quite well."

"I ought to have known that sooner," she said.

"I did not want to alarm you unnecessarily."

"I must go and see him;" and she held out her hand to say good-night.
"But you'll come to Garscube Hall soon: I shall be anxious to hear
what you think of Frank. When will you come?"

"I'll write," he said.

Lady Arthur felt that opportunity was slipping from her, and she grew
desperate. "Speaking of writing," she said, "I wrote to you when I
had the fever last year and thought I was dying: would you like to see
that letter?"

"No," he said: "I prefer you living."

"Have you no curiosity? People can say things dying that they couldn't
say living, perhaps."

"Well, they have no business to do so," he said. "It is taking an
unfair advantage, which a generous nature never does; besides, it is
more solemn to live than die."

"Then you don't want the letter?"

"Oh yes, if you like."

"Very well: I'll think of it. Can you show me the way to John's place
of refuge?"

They found John sitting up in bed, and Mrs, Ormiston ministering to
him: the remains of a fowl were on a plate beside him, and he was
lifting a glass of something