caught the infection, and volunteered to be the escort on horseback.  Lady Lundie’s celebrated “smile” (warranted to remain unaltered on her face for hours together) made its appearance once more.  She issued her orders with the most charming amiability.  “We’ll take the guidebook,” said her ladyship, with the eye to mean economy, which is only to be met with in very rich people, “and save a shilling to the man who shows the ruins.”  With that she went up stairs to array herself for the drive, and looked in the glass; and saw a perfectly virtuous, fascinating, and accomplished woman, facing her irresistibly in a new French bonnet!

At a private signal from Blanche, Arnold slipped out and repaired to his post, where the roads crossed the road that led to the railway.

There was a space of open heath on one side of him, and the stonewall and gates of a farmhouse inclosure on the other.  Arnold sat down on the soft heather—­and lit a cigar—­and tried to see his way through the double mystery of Anne’s appearance and Anne’s flight.

He had interpreted his friend’s absence exactly as his friend had anticipated:  he could only assume that Geoffrey had gone to keep a private appointment with Anne.  Miss Silvester’s appearance at Windygates alone, and Miss Silvester’s anxiety to hear the names of the gentlemen who were staying in the house, seemed, under these circumstances, to point to the plain conclusion that the two had, in some way, unfortunately missed each other.  But what could be the motive of her flight?  Whether she knew of some other place in which she might meet Geoffrey? or whether she had gone back to the inn? or whether she had acted under some sudden impulse of despair?—­were questions which Arnold was necessarily quite incompetent to solve.  There was no choice but to wait until an opportunity offered of reporting what had happened to Geoffrey himself.

After the lapse of half an hour, the sound of some approaching vehicle—­the first sound of the sort that he had heard—­attracted Arnold’s attention.  He started up, and saw the pony-chaise approaching him along the road from the station.  Sir Patrick, this time, was compelled to drive himself—­Duncan was not with him.  On discovering Arnold, he stopped the pony.

“So! so!” said the old gentleman.  “You have heard all about it, I see?  You understand that this is to be a secret from every body, till further notice?  Very good, Has any thing happened since you have been here?”

“Nothing.  Have you made any discoveries, Sir Patrick?”

“None.  I got to the station before the train.  No signs of Miss Silvester any where.  I have left Duncan on the watch—­with orders not to stir till the last train has passed to-night.”

“I don’t think she will turn up at the station,” said Arnold.  “I fancy she has gone back to Craig Fernie.”