es, at the broken
crockery and the old iron. Here there was a torn hat, and there some
fragments of rotten old boots, and scattered around a small attendant
litter of torn paper and frowzy rags.

"What are you looking at?" asked Mr. Playmore.

"At nothing more remarkable than the dust-heap," I answered.

"In tidy England, I suppose, you would have all that carted away out
of sight," said the lawyer. "We don't mind in Scotland, as long as the
dust-heap is far enough away not to be smelt at the house. Besides,
some of it, sifted, comes in usefully as manure for the garden. Here
the place is deserted, and the rubbish in consequence has not been
disturbed. Everything at Gleninch, Mrs. Eustace (the big dust-heap
included), is waiting for the new mistress to set it to rights. One of
these days you may be queen here--who knows?"

"I shall never see this place again," I said.

"Never is a long day," returned my companion. "And time has its
surprises in store for all of us."

We turned away, and walked back in silence to the park gate, at which
the carriage was waiting.

On the return to Edinburgh, Mr. Playmore directed the conversation to
topics entirely unconnected with my visit to Gleninch. He saw that
my mind stood in need of relief; and he most good-naturedly, and
successfully, exerted himself to amuse me. It was not until we were
close to the city that he touched on the subject of my return to London.

"Have you decided yet on the day when you leave Edinburgh?" he asked.

"We leave Edinburgh," I replied, "by the train of to-morrow morning."

"Do you still see no reason to alter the opinions which you expressed
yesterday? Does your speedy departure mean that?"

"I am afraid it does, Mr. Playmore. When I am an older woman, I may be
a wiser woman. In the meantime, I can only trust to your indulgence if I
still blindly blunder on in my own way."

He smiled pleasantly, and patted my hand--then changed on a sudden, and
looked at me gravely and attentively before he opened his lips again.

"This is my last opportunity of speaking to you before you go," he said.
"May I speak freely?"

"As freely as you please, Mr. Playmore. Whatever you may say to me will
only add to my grateful sense of your kindness."

"I have very little to say, Mrs. Eustace--and that little begins with
a word of caution. You told me yesterday that, when you paid your last
visit to Miserrimus Dexter, you went to him alone. Don't do that again.