over them two months since.  The tables, drawn up in corners—­loaded with ornaments at other times—­had nothing but pen, ink, and paper (suggestive of the coming proceedings) placed on them now.  The smell of the house was musty; the voice of the house was still.  One melancholy maid haunted the bedrooms up stairs, like a ghost.  One melancholy man, appointed to admit the visitors, sat solitary in the lower regions—­the last of the flunkies, mouldering in an extinct servants’ hall.  Not a word passed, in the drawing-room, between Lady Lundie and Blanche.  Each waited the appearance of the persons concerned in the coming inquiry, absorbed in her own thoughts.  Their situation at the moment was a solemn burlesque of the situation of two ladies who are giving an evening party, and who are waiting to receive their guests.  Did neither of them see this?  Or, seeing it, did they shrink from acknowledging it?  In similar positions, who does not shrink?  The occasions are many on which we have excellent reason to laugh when the tears are in our eyes; but only children are bold enough to follow the impulse.  So strangely, in human existence, does the mockery of what is serious mingle with the serious reality itself, that nothing but our own self-respect preserves our gravity at some of the most important emergencies in our lives.  The two ladies waited the coming ordeal together gravely, as became the occasion.  The silent maid flitted noiseless up stairs.  The silent man waited motionless in the lower regions.  Outside, the street was a desert.  Inside, the house was a tomb.

The church clock struck the hour.  Two.

At the same moment the first of the persons concerned in the investigation arrived.

Lady Lundie waited composedly for the opening of the drawing-room door.  Blanche started, and trembled.  Was it Arnold?  Was it Anne?

The door opened—­and Blanche drew a breath of relief.  The first arrival was only Lady Lundie’s solicitor—­invited to attend the proceedings on her ladyship’s behalf.  He was one of that large class of purely mechanical and perfectly mediocre persons connected with the practice of the law who will probably, in a more advanced state of science, be superseded by machinery.  He made himself useful in altering the arrangement of the tables and chairs, so as to keep the contending parties effectually separated from each other.  He also entreated Lady Lundie to bear in mind that he knew nothing of Scotch law, and that he was there in the capacity of a friend only.  This done, he sat down, and looked out with silent interest at the rain—­as if it was an operation of Nature which he had never had an opportunity of inspecting before.

The next knock at the door heralded the arrival of a visitor of a totally different order.  The melancholy man-servant announced Captain Newenden.