“Do you really love me as much as that?”

They were still in the yard; and the only witnesses present were the dogs.  Arnold answered in the language without words—­which is nevertheless the most expressive language in use, between men and women, all over the world.

“This is not doing my duty,” said Blanche, penitently.  “But, oh Arnold, I am so anxious and so miserable!  And it is such a consolation to know that you won’t turn your back on me too!”

With that preface she told him what had happened in the library.  Even Blanche’s estimate of her lover’s capacity for sympathizing with her was more than realized by the effect which her narrative produced on Arnold.  He was not merely surprised and sorry for her.  His face showed plainly that he felt genuine concern and distress.  He had never stood higher in Blanche’s opinion than he stood at that moment.

“What is to be done?” he asked.  “How does Sir Patrick propose to find her?”

Blanche repeated Sir Patrick’s instructions relating to the crossroads, and also to the serious necessity of pursuing the investigation in the strictest privacy.  Arnold (relieved from all fear of being sent back to Craig Fernie) undertook to do every thing that was asked of him, and promised to keep the secret from every body.

They went back to the house, and met with an icy welcome from Lady Lundie.  Her ladyship repeated her remark on the subject of turning Windygates into a Penitentiary for Blanche’s benefit.  She received Arnold’s petition to be excused from going to see the castle with the barest civility.  “Oh, take your walk by all means!  You may meet your friend, Mr. Delamayn—­who appears to have such a passion for walking that he can’t even wait till luncheon is over.  As for Sir Patrick—­Oh!  Sir Patrick has borrowed the pony-carriage? and gone out driving by himself?—­I’m sure I never meant to offend my brother-in-law when I offered him a slice of my poor little cake.  Don’t let me offend any body else.  Dispose of your afternoon, Blanche, without the slightest reference to me.  Nobody seems inclined to visit the ruins—­the most interesting relic of feudal times in Perthshire, Mr. Brinkworth.  It doesn’t matter—­oh, dear me, it doesn’t matter!  I can’t force my guests to feel an intelligent curiosity on the subject of Scottish Antiquities.  No! no! my dear Blanche!—­it won’t be the first time, or the last, that I have driven out alone.  I don’t at all object to being alone.  ’My mind to me a kingdom is,’ as the poet says.”  So Lady Lundie’s outraged self-importance asserted its violated claims on human respect, until her distinguished medical guest came to the rescue and smoothed his hostess’s ruffled plumes.  The surgeon (he privately detested ruins) begged to go.  Blanche begged to go.  Smith and Jones (profoundly interested in feudal antiquities) said they would sit behind, in the “rumble”—­rather than miss this unexpected treat.  One, Two, and Three