“There is a train in half an hour, uncle.  She can never get there in time for that.”

“She may be less exhausted than we think; or she may get a lift; or she may not be alone.  How do we know but somebody may have been waiting in the lane—­her husband, if there is such a person—­to help her?  No!  I shall assume she is now on her way to the station; and I shall get there as fast as possible—­”

“And stop her, if you find her there?”

“What I do, Blanche, must be left to my discretion.  If I find her there, I must act for the best.  If I don’t find her there, I shall leave Duncan (who goes with me) on the watch for the remaining trains, until the last to-night.  He knows Miss Silvester by sight, and he is sure that she has never noticed him. Whether she goes north or south, early or late, Duncan will have my orders to follow her.  He is thoroughly to be relied on.  If she takes the railway, I answer for it we shall know where she goes.”

“How clever of you to think of Duncan!”

“Not in the least, my dear.  Duncan is my factotum; and the course I am taking is the obvious course which would have occurred to any body.  Let us get to the re ally difficult part of it now.  Suppose she hires a carriage?”

“There are none to be had, except at the station.”

“There are farmers about here—­and farmers have light carts, or chaises, or something of the sort.  It is in the last degree unlikely that they would consent to let her have them.  Still, women break through difficulties which stop men.  And this is a clever woman, Blanche—­a woman, you may depend on it, who is bent on preventing you from tracing her.  I confess I wish we had somebody we could trust lounging about where those two roads branch off from the road that leads to the railway.  I must go in another direction; I can’t do it.”

“Arnold can do it!”

Sir Patrick looked a little doubtful.  “Arnold is an excellent fellow,” he said.  “But can we trust to his discretion?”

“He is, next to you, the most perfectly discreet person I know,” rejoined Blanche, in a very positive manner; “and, what is more, I have told him every thing about Anne, except what has happened to-day.  I am afraid I shall tell him that, when I feel lonely and miserable, after you have gone.  There is something in Arnold—­I don’t know what it is—­that comforts me.  Besides, do you think he would betray a secret that I gave him to keep?  You don’t know how devoted he is to me!”

“My dear Blanche, I am not the cherished object of his devotion; of course I don’t know!  You are the only authority on that point.  I stand corrected.  Let us have Arnold, by all means.  Caution him to be careful; and send him out by himself, where the roads meet.  We have now only one other place left in which there is a chance of finding a trace of her.  I undertake to make the necessary investigation at the Craig Fernie inn.”