is nobody
in the library at that hour. Don't say it's impossible--you don't know
what may happen. I shall wait ten minutes every day on the chance of
seeing you. That's settled--and it's settled that you write. Before I
go, darling, is there any thing else we can think of for the future?"

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 kiss--and 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
sitting-room. "Miss Lundie is waiting for you." Blanche pressed her
hand, and left her.

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
thinking--then, rousing on a sudden, hurried into the sitting-room, and
rang the bell.

"I shall go mad," she said to herself, "if I stay here alone."

Even Mr. Bishopriggs felt the necessity of being silent when he stood
face to face with her on answering the bell.

"I want to speak to him. Send him here instantly."

Mr. Bishopriggs understood her, and withdrew.

Arnold came in.

"Has she gone?" were the first words he said.

"She has gone. She won't suspect you when you see her again. I have told
her nothing. Don't ask me for my reasons!"

"I have no wish to ask you."

"Be angry with me, if you like!"

"I have no wish to be angry with you."

He spoke and looked like an altered man. Quietly seating himself at the
table, he rested his head on his hand--and 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
man--when 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 g