"Whar' can ye go? There's the nuptial chamber!"

"Impossible!"

Mr. Bishopriggs expressed the utmost extremity of human amazement by a
long whistle, on one note.

"Whew! Is that the way ye talk o' the nuptial chamber already?"

"Find me some other place--I'll make it worth your while."

"Eh! there's my paintry! I trow that's some other place; and the door's
at the end o' the passage."

Arnold hurried out. Mr. Bishopriggs--evidently under the impression that
the case before him was a case of elopement, with Sir Patrick mixed
up in it in the capacity of guardian--addressed himself, in friendly
confidence, to Anne.

"My certie, mistress! it's ill wark deceivin' Sir Paitrick, if that's
what ye've dune. Ye must know, I was ance a bit clerk body in his
chambers at Embro--"

The voice of Mistress Inchbare, calling for the head-waiter, rose shrill
and imperative from the regions of the bar. Mr. Bishopriggs disappeared.
Anne remained, standing helpless by the window. It was plain by this
time that the place of her retreat had been discovered at Windygates.
The one doubt to decide, now, was whether it would be wise or not to
receive Sir Patrick, for the purpose of discovering whether he came as
friend or enemy to the inn.