ne'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 if he thinks
as I do, when I tell him about Anne."

The carriage drew up at the door; and Mrs. Inchbare showed in--not 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 pony-chaise, and
had ordered the carriage, with the firm determination of following her
step-daughter 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 weather--had 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 shooting-cottage, 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 not.

Blanche took the box from the woman's hands, and joined Anne in the
bedroom, to dress herself for the drive home.

"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,
Anne--I'm uneasy about you. Can I be sure of one thing--do you stay here
for the present?"

The worst that could happen at the inn _had_ happened. Nothing was to be
gained now--and every thing might be lost--by leaving the place at which
Geoffrey had promised to write to her. Anne answered that she proposed
remaining at the inn for the present.

"You promise to write to me?"

"Yes."

"If there is any thing I can do for you--?"

"There is nothing, my love."

"There may be. If you want to see me, we can meet at Windygates without
being discovered. Come at luncheon-time--go around by the shrubbery--and
step in at the library window. You know as well as I do there