When she returned, late in the afternoon, the canvas bag was empty and the cab was full, for Rose Cameron, the country girl, ignorant of the world, but having a saving faith in the dishonesty of cities, refused to trust the dealers to send the goods home, but insisted on fetching them herself.

She displayed her purchases—­mostly gaudy trash—­to the wondering eyes of Mrs. Rogers, and then, tired out with her long night’s journey and her whole day’s shopping, she ate a heavy supper and went to bed.  Such excesses never seemed to over-task her fine digestive organs or disturb her sleep.  After an unbroken night’s rest she awoke the next morning with a clear head and a keen appetite, and rang for the housekeeper to bring her a cup of tea to her bedside.

While waiting for her tea she wondered if her “guid mon” would arrive during the next twenty-four hours.

And that revived in her mind the memory of her supposed rival.  During the preceding day she had been so absorbed in the contemplation of her newly-acquired treasures in jewelry and money that she had scarcely thought of what might then be going on at Castle Lone.

Now she wondered what happened there; whether the marriage had failed to take place; but, of course, she said to herself, it had failed.  Lord Arondelle would never commit bigamy—­but how had it failed?  What had been made to happen to prevent it from going on?  And what had the bride and her friends said or thought?

Above all, why had Lord Arondelle, married to herself as she fully believed him to be, why had Lord Arondelle allowed the affair to go so far, even to the wedding-morning, when the wedding-feast was prepared, and the wedding guests arrived?

It must have been done to mortify and humiliate those city strangers who sat in his father’s seat, she thought.

Oh, but she would have given a great deal to have seen her hated rival’s face on that wedding-morning when no wedding took place?

No doubt “John” would tell her all about it when he arrived.  And oh!  How impatient she became for his arrival!

Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper with a cup of tea in one hand and the Times in the other.

“Good morning, ma’am.  And hoping you find yourself well this morning!  Here is your tea, ma’am.  And here is the paper, ma’am.  There’s the most hawful murder been committed, ma’am, which I thought you might enjoy along of your tea,” said the worthy woman, as she drew a little stand by the bedside and placed the cup and the newspaper upon it.

“A murder?” listlessly repeated Rose Cameron, rising on her elbow, and taking the tea-cup in her hand.

“Ay, ma’am, the most hawfullest murder as ever you ‘eard of, on an’ ’elpless old gent, away up at a place in Scotland called Lone!”

“EH!” exclaimed Rose Cameron, starting, and nearly letting fall her tea-cup.