“There I am—­as ye say.  Mercy presairve us! ye need the siller at every turn, when there’s a woman at yer heels.  It’s an awfu’ reflection—­ye canna hae any thing to do wi’ the sex they ca’ the opposite sex without its being an expense to ye.  There’s this young leddy o’ yours, I doot she’ll ha’ been an expense to ye from the first.  When you were coortin’ her, ye did it, I’ll go bail, wi’ the open hand.  Presents and keep-sakes, flowers and jewelery, and little dogues.  Sair expenses all of them!”

“Hang your reflections!  Has Sir Patrick left the inn?”

The reflections of Mr. Bishopriggs declined to be disposed of in any thing approaching to a summary way.  On they flowed from their parent source, as slowly and as smoothly as ever!

“Noo ye’re married to her, there’s her bonnets and goons and under-clothin’—­her ribbons, laces, furbelows, and fallals.  A sair expense again!”

“What is the expense of cutting your reflections short, Mr. Bishopriggs?”

“Thirdly, and lastly, if ye canna agree wi’ her as time gaes on—­if there’s incompaitibeelity of temper betwixt ye—­in short, if ye want a wee bit separation, hech, Sirs! ye pet yer hand in yer poaket, and come to an aimicable understandin’ wi’ her in that way.  Or, maybe she takes ye into Court, and pets her hand in your poaket, and comes to a hoastile understandin’ wi’ ye there.  Show me a woman—­and I’ll show ye a man not far off wha’ has mair expenses on his back than he ever bairgained for.”  Arnold’s patience would last no longer—­he turned to the door.  Mr. Bishopriggs, with equal alacrity on his side, turned to the matter in hand.  “Yes, Sir!  The room is e’en clear o’ Sir Paitrick, and the leddy’s alane, and waitin’ for ye.”

In a moment more Arnold was back in the sitting-room.

“Well?” he asked, anxiously.  “What is it?  Bad news from Lady Lundie’s?”

Anne closed and directed the letter to Blanche, which she had just completed.  “No,” she replied.  “Nothing to interest you.”

“What did Sir Patrick want?”

“Only to warn me.  They have found out at Windygates that I am here.”

“That’s awkward, isn’t it?”

“Not in the least.  I can manage perfectly; I have nothing to fear.  Don’t think of me—­think of yourself.”

“I am not suspected, am I?”

“Thank heaven—­no.  But there is no knowing what may happen if you stay here.  Ring the bell at once, and ask the waiter about the trains.”

Struck by the unusual obscurity of the sky at that hour of the evening, Arnold went to the window.  The rain had come—­and was falling heavily.  The view on the moor was fast disappearing in mist and darkness.

“Pleasant weather to travel in!” he said.

“The railway!” Anne exclaimed, impatiently.  “It’s getting late.  See about the railway!”

Arnold walked to the fire-place to ring the bell.  The railway time-table hanging over it met his eye.