--but, my good fellow, is she a
lady?"

This was torture to Archie. "I beg your pardon," he said, struggling to
be composed, "but because you have wormed yourself into my
confidence----"

"O, come!" cried Frank. "Your confidence? It was rosy but unconsenting.
Your confidence, indeed? Now, look! This is what I must say, Weir, for
it concerns your safety and good character, and therefore my honour as
your friend. You say I wormed myself into your confidence. Wormed is
good. But what have I done? I have put two and two together, just as the
parish will be doing to-morrow, and the whole of Tweeddale in two weeks,
and the Black Brothers--well, I won't put a date on that; it will be a
dark and stormy morning! Your secret, in other words, is poor Poll's.
And I want to ask of you as a friend whether you like the prospect?
There are two horns to your dilemma, and I must say for myself I should
look mighty ruefully on either. Do you see yourself explaining to the
Four Black Brothers? or do you see yourself presenting the milkmaid to
papa as the future lady of Hermiston? Do you? I tell you plainly, I
don't!"

Archie rose. "I will hear no more of this," he said, in a trembling
voice.

But Frank again held up his cigar. "Tell me one thing first. Tell me if
this is not a friend's part that I am playing?"

"I believe you think it so," replied Archie. "I can go as far as that. I
can do so much justice to your motives. But I will hear no more of it. I
am going to bed."

"That's right, Weir," said Frank heartily. "Go to bed and think over it;
and I say, man, don't forget your prayers! I don't often do the
moral--don't go in for that sort of thing--but when I do, there's one
thing sure, that I mean it."

So Archie marched off to bed, and Frank sat alone by the table for
another hour or so, smiling to himself richly. There was nothing
vindictive in his nature; but, if revenge came in his way, it might as
well be good, and the thought of Archie's pillow reflections that night
was indescribably sweet to him. He felt a pleasant sense of power. He
looked down on Archie as on a very little boy whose strings he
pulled--as on a horse whom he had backed and bridled by sheer power of
intelligence, and whom he might ride to glory or the grave at pleasure.
Which was it to be? He lingered long, relishing the details of schemes
that he was too idle to pursue. Poor cork upon a torrent, he tasted that
night the sweets of omnipotence, and broode