independent person than this was not to be found on the face of the
hotel-keeping earth. The most universal of all civilized terrors--the
terror of appearing unfavorably in the newspapers--was a sensation
absolutely unknown to the Empress of the Inn. You lost your temper,
and threatened to send her bill for exhibition in the public journals.
Mistress Inchbare raised no objection to your taking any course you
pleased with it. "Eh, man! send the bill whar' ye like, as long as ye
pay it first. There's nae such thing as a newspaper ever darkens my
doors. Ye've got the Auld and New Testaments in your bedchambers, and
the natural history o' Pairthshire on the coffee-room table--and if
that's no' reading eneugh for ye, ye may een gae back South again, and
get the rest of it there."

This was the inn at which Anne Silvester had appeared alone, with
nothing but a little bag in her hand. This was the woman whose
reluctance to receive her she innocently expected to overcome by showing
her purse.

"Mention your charge for the rooms," she said. "I am willing to pay for
them beforehand."

Her majesty, Mrs. Inchbare, never even looked at her subject's poor
little purse.

"It just comes to this, mistress," she answered. "I'm no' free to tak'
your money, if I'm no' free to let ye the last rooms left in the hoose.
The Craig Fernie hottle is a faimily hottle--and has its ain gude name
to keep up. Ye're ower-well-looking, my young leddy, to be traveling
alone."