in my life!" cried the old gentleman, warmly. "Never mind! it's
useless to regret it now. At any rate, you read Delamayn's answer
to Miss Silvester's letter?"
"Yes--I did."
"Repeat it--as nearly as you can remember at this distance of
time."
"It was so short," said Arnold, "that there is hardly any thing
to repeat. As well as I remember, Geoffrey said he was called
away to London by his father's illness. He told Miss Silvester to
stop where she was; and he referred her to me, as messenger.
That's all I recollect of it now."
"Cudgel your brains, my good fellow! this is very important. Did
he make no allusion to his engagement to marry Miss Silvester at
Craig Fernie? Didn't he try to pacify her by an apology of some
sort?"
The question roused Arnold's memory to make another effort.
"Yes," he answered. "Geoffrey said something about being true to
his engagement, or keeping his promise or words to that effect."
"You're sure of what you say now?"
"I am certain of it."
Sir Patrick made another note.
"Was the letter signed?" he asked, when he had done.
"Yes."
"And dated?"
"Yes." Arnold's memory made a second effort, after he had given
his second affirmative answer. "Wait a little," he said. "I
remember something else about the letter. It was not only dated.
The time of day at which it was written was put as well."
"How came he to do that?"
"I suggested it. The letter was so short I felt ashamed to
deliver it as it stood. I told him to put the time--so as to show
her that he was obliged to write in a hurry. He put the time when
the train started; and (I think) the time when the letter was
written as well."
"And you delivered that letter to Miss Silvester, with your own
hand, as soon as you saw her at the inn?"
"I did."
Sir Patrick made a third note, and pushed the paper away from him
with an air of supreme satisfaction.
"I always suspected that lost letter to be an important
document," he said--"or Bishopriggs would never have stolen it.
We must get possession of it, Arnold, at any sacrifice. The first
thing to be done (exactly as I anticipated), is to write to the
Glasgow lawyer, and find Miss Silvester."
"Wait a lit tle!" cried a voice at the veranda. "Don't forget
that I have come back from Baden to help you!"
Sir Patrick and Arnold both looked up. This time Blanche had
heard the last words that had passed between them. She sat down
at the table by Sir Patrick's side, and laid her hand caressingly
on his shoulder.
"You are quite right, uncle," she said. "I _am_ suffering this
morning from the malady of having nothing to do. Are you going to
write to Anne? Don't. Let me write instead."
Sir Patrick declined to resign the pen.
"The person who knows Miss Silvester's address," he said, "is a
lawyer in Glasgow. I am going to write to the lawyer. When he
sends us word where she is--then, Blanche, will be the time to
employ your good offices in winning back your friend."
He drew the writing materials once more with in his reach, and,
suspending the remainder of Arnold's examination for the present,
began his letter to Mr. Crum.
Blanche pleaded hard for an occupation of some sort. "Can nobody
give me something to do?" she asked. "Glasgow is such a long way
off, and waiting is such weary work. Don't sit there staring at
me, Arnold! Can't you suggest something?"
Arnold, for once, displayed an unexpected readiness of resource.
"If you want to write," he said, "you owe Lady Lundie a letter.
It's three days since you heard from her--and you haven't
answered her yet."
Sir Patrick paused, and looked up quickly from his writing-desk.
"Lady Lundie?" he muttered, inquiringly.
"Yes," said Blanche. "It's quite true; I owe her a letter. And of
course I ought to tell her we have come back to England. She will
be finely provoked when she hears why!"
The prospect of provoking Lady Lundie seemed to rouse Blanche s
dormant energies. She took a sheet of her uncle's note-paper, and
began writing her answer then and there.
Sir Patrick completed his communication to the lawyer--after a
look at Blanche, which expressed any thing rather than approval
of her present employment. Having placed his completed note in
the postbag, he silently signed to Arnold to follow him into the
garden. They went out together, leaving Blanche absorbed over her
letter to her step-mother.
"Is my wife doing any thing wrong?" asked Arnold, who had noticed
the look which Sir Patrick had cast on Blanche.
"Your wife is making mischief as fast as her fingers can spread
it."
Arnold stared. "She must answer Lady Lundie's letter," he said.
"Unquestionably."
"And she must tell Lady Lundie we have come back."
"I don't deny it."
"Then what is the objection to her writing?"
Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuff--and pointed with his ivory
cane to the bees humming busily about the flower-beds in the
sunshine of the autumn morning.
"I'll show you the objection," he said. "Suppose Blanche told one
of those inveterately intrusive insects that the honey in the
flowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to
an end--do you think he would take the statement for granted? No.
He would plunge head-foremost into the nearest flower, and
investigate it for himself."
"Well?" said Arnold.
"Well--there is Blanche in the breakfast-room telling Lady Lundie
that the bridal tour happens, through an unexpected accident, to
have come to an end. Do you think Lady Lundie is the sort of
person to take the statement for granted? Nothing of the sort!
Lady Lundie, like the bee, will insist on investigating for
herself. How it will end, if she discovers the truth--and what
new complications she may not introduce into a matter which,
Heaven knows, is complicated enough already--I leave you to
imagine. _My_ poor powers of prevision are not equal to it."
Before Arnold could answer, Blanche joined them from the
breakfast-room.
"I've done it," she said. "It was an awkward letter to write--and
it's a comfort to have it over."
"You have done it, my dear," remarked Sir Patrick, quietly. "And
it may be a comfort. But it's not over."
"What do you mean?"
"I think, Blanche, we shall hear from your step-mother by return
of post."
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.
THE NEWS FROM GLASGOW.
THE letters to Lady Lundie and to Mr. Crum having been dispatched
on Monday, the return of the post might be looked for on
Wednesday afternoon at Ham Farm.
Sir Patrick and Arnold held more than one private consultation,
during the interval, on the delicate and difficult subject of
admitting Blanche to a knowledge of what had happened. The wise
elder advised and the inex
perienced junior listened. "Think of
it," said Sir Patrick; "and do it." And Arnold thought of it--and
left it undone.
Let those who feel inclined to blame him remember that he had
only been married a fortnight. It is hard, surely, after but two
weeks' possession of your wife, to appear before her in the
character of an offender on trial--and to find that an angel of
retribution has been thrown into the bargain by the liberal
destiny which bestowed on you the woman whom you adore!
They were all three at home on the Wednesday afternoon, looking
out for the postman.
The correspondence delivered included (exactly as Sir Patrick had
foreseen) a letter from Lady Lundie. Further investigation, on
the far more interesting subject of the expected news from
Glasgow, revealed--nothing. The lawyer had not answered Sir
Patrick's inquiry by return of post.
"Is that a bad sign?" asked Blanche.
"It is a sign that something has happened," answered her uncle.
"Mr. Crum is possibly expecting to receive some special
information, and is waiting on the chance of being able to
communicate it. We must hope, my dear, in to-morrow's post."
"Open Lady Lundie's letter in the mean time," said Blanche. "Are
you sure it is for you--and not for me?"
There was no doubt about it. Her ladyship's reply was ominously
addressed to her ladyship's brother-in-law. "I know what that
means." said Blanche, eying her uncle eagerly while he was
reading the letter. "If you mention Anne's name you insult my
step-mother. I have mentioned it freely. Lady Lundie is mortally
offended with me."
Rash judgment of youth! A lady who takes a dignified attitude, in
a family emergency, is never mortally offended--she is only
deeply grieved. Lady Lundie took a dignified attitude. "I well
know," wrote this estimable and Christian woman, "that I have
been all along regarded in the light of an intruder by the family
connections of my late beloved husband. But I was hardly prepared
to find myself entirely shut out from all domestic confidence, at
a time when some serious domestic catastrophe has but too
evidently taken place. I have no desire, dear Sir Patrick, to
intrude. Feeling it, however, to be quite inconsistent with a due
regard for my own position--after what has happened--to
correspond with Blanche, I address myself to the head of the
family, purely in the interests of propriety. Permit me to ask
whether--under circumstances which appear to be serious enough to
require the recall of my step-daughter and her husband from their
wedding tour--you think it DECENT to keep the widow of the late
Sir Thomas Lundie entirely in the dark? Pray consider this--not
at all out of regard for Me!--but out of regard for your own
position with Society. Curiosity is, as you know, foreign to my
nature. But when this dreadful scandal (whatever it may be) comes
out--which, dear Sir Patrick, it can not fail to do--what will
the world think, when it asks for Lady Lundie's, opinion, and
hears that Lady Lundie knew nothing about it? Whichever way you
may decide I shall take no offense. I may possibly be
wounded--but that won't matter. My little round of duties will
find me still earnest, still cheerful. And even if you shut me
out, my best wishes will find their way, nevertheless, to Ham
Farm. May I add--without encountering a sneer--that the prayers
of a lonely woman are offered for the welfare of all?"
"Well?" said Blanche.
Sir Patrick folded up the letter, and put it in his pocket.
"You have your step-mother's best wishes, my dear." Having
answered in those terms, he bowed to his niece with his best
grace, and walked out of the room.
"Do I think it decent," he repeated to himself, as he closed the
door, "to leave the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie in the
dark? When a lady's temper is a little ruffled, I think it more
than decent, I think it absolutely desirable, to let that lady
have the last word." He went into the library, and dropped his
sister-in-law's remonstrance into a box, labeled "Unanswered
Letters." Having got rid of it in that way, he hummed his
favorite little Scotch air--and put on his hat, and went out to
sun himself in the garden.
Meanwhile, Blanche was not quite satisfied with Sir Patrick's
reply. She appealed to her husband. "There is something wrong,"
she said--"and my uncle is hiding it from me."
Arnold could have desired no better opportunity than she had
offered to him, in those words, for making the long-deferred
disclosure to her of the truth. He lifted his eyes to Blanche's
face. By an unhappy fatality she was looking charmingly that
morning. How would she look if he told her the story of the
hiding at the inn? Arnold was still in love with her--and Arnold
said nothing.
The next day's post brought not only the anticipated letter from
Mr. Crum, but an unexpected Glasgow newspaper as well.
This time Blanche had no reason to complain that her uncle kept
his correspondence a secret from her. After reading the lawyer's
letter, with an interest and agitation which showed that the
contents had taken him by surprise, he handed it to Arnold and
his niece. "Bad news there," he said. "We must share it
together."
After acknowledging the receipt of Sir Patrick's letter of
inquiry, Mr. Crum began by stating all that he knew of Miss
Silvester's movements--dating from the time when she had left the
Sheep's Head Hotel. About a fortnight since he had received a
letter from her informing him that she had found a suitable place
of residence in a village near Glasgow. Feeling a strong interest
in Miss Silvester, Mr. Crum had visited her some few days
afterward. He had satisfied himself that she was lodging with
respectable people, and was as comfortably situated as
circumstances would permit. For a week more he had heard nothing
from the lady. At the expiration of that time he had received a
letter from her, telling him that she had read something in a
Glasgow newspaper, of that day's date, which seriously concerned
herself, and which would oblige her to travel northward
immediately as fast as her strength would permit. At a later
period, when she would be more certain of her own movements, she
engaged to write again, and let Mr. Crum know where he might
communicate with her if necessary. In the mean time, she could
only thank him for his kindness, and beg him to take care of any
letters or messages which might be left for her. Since the
receipt of this communication the lawyer had heard nothing
further. He had waited for the morning's post in the hope of
being able to report that he had received some further
intelligence. The hope had not been realized. He had now stated
all that he knew himself thus far--and he had forwarded a copy of
the newspaper alluded to by Miss Silvester, on the chance that an
examination of it by Sir Patrick m
ight possibly lead to further
discoveries. In conclusion, he pledged himself to write again the
moment he had any information to send.
Blanche snatched up the newspaper, and opened it. "Let me look!"
she said. "I can find what Anne saw here if any body can!"
She ran her eye eagerly over column after column and page after
page--and dropped the newspaper on her lap with a gesture of
despair.
"Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Nothing any where, that I can see, to
interest Anne. Nothing to interest any body--except Lady Lundie,"
she went on, brushing the newspaper off her lap. "It turns out to
be all true, Arnold, at Swanhaven. Geoffrey Delamayn is going to
marry Mrs. Glenarm."
"What!" cried Arnold; the idea instantly flashing on him that
this was the news which Anne had seen.
Sir Patrick gave him a warning look, and picked up the newspaper
from the floor.
"I may as well run through it, Blanche, and make quite sure that
you have missed nothing," he said.
The report to which Blanche had referred was among the paragraphs
arranged under the heading of "Fashionable News." "A matrimonial
alliance" (the Glasgow journal announced) "was in prospect
between the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn and the lovely and
accomplished relict of the late Mathew Glenarm, Esq., formerly
Miss Newenden." The, marriage would, in all probability, "be
solemnized in Scotland, before the end of the present autumn;"
and the wedding breakfast, it was whispered, "would collect a
large and fashionable party at Swanhaven Lodge."
Sir Patrick handed the newspaper silently to Arnold. It was plain
to any one who knew Anne Silvester's story that those were the
words which had found their fatal way to her in her place of
rest. The inference that followed seemed to be hardly less clear.
But one intelligible object, in the opinion of Sir Patrick, could
be at the end of her journey to the north. The deserted woman had
rallied the last relics of her old energy--and had devoted
herself to the desperate purpose of stopping the marriage of Mrs.
Glenarm.
Blanche was the first to break the silence.
"It seems like a fatality," she said. "Perpetual failure!
Perpetual disappointment! Are Anne and I doomed never to meet
again?"
She looked at her uncle. Sir Patrick showed none of his customary
cheerfulness in the face of disaster.
"She has promised to write to Mr. Crum," he said. "And Mr. Crum
has promised to let us know when he hears from her. That is the
only prospect before us. We must accept it as resignedly as we
can."
Blanche wandered out listlessly among the flowers in the
conservatory. Sir Patrick made no secret of the impression
produced upon him by Mr. Crum's letter, when he and Arnold were
left alone.
"There is no denying," he said, "that matters have taken a very
serious turn. My plans and calculations are all thrown out. It is
impossible to foresee what new mischief may not come of it, if
those two women meet; or what desperate act Delamayn may not
commit, if he finds himself driven to the wall. As things are, I
own frankly I don't know what to do next. A great light of the
Presbyterian Church," he added, with a momentary outbreak of his
whimsical humor, "once declared, in my hearing, that the
invention of printing was nothing more or less than a proof of
the intellectual activity of the Devil. Upon my honor, I feel for
the first time in my life inclined to agree with him."
He mechanically took up the Glasgow journal, which Arnold had
laid aside, while he spoke.
"What's this!" he exclaimed, as a name caught his eye in the
first line of the newspaper at which he happened to look. "Mrs.
Glenarm again! Are they turning the iron-master's widow into a
public character?"