me afterward; and then we were nearer Craig Fernie
than Windygates--to 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 it--by 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 am--wet through in a thunderstorm, which doesn't in the least
matter--and determined to satisfy my own mind about you, which matters a
great deal, and must and shall be done before I rest to-night!"

She turned Anne, by main force, as she spoke, toward the light of the
candles.

Her tone changed the moment she looked at Anne's face.

"I knew it!" she said. "You would never have kept the most interesting
event in your life a secret from _me_--you would never have written me
such a cold formal letter as the letter you left in your room--if 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 bedroom immediately.

"Change your wet clothes first," she said. "We can talk after that."

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 sitting-room, and
closed the door behind her. To her infinite relief, she only found
herself face to face with the discreet Mr. Bishopriggs.

"What do you want?" she asked.

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 slip
of paper, with some lines of writing on it.

"From ye ken who," he explained, jocosely. "A bit love-letter, 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