"There is nothing, my love."

"There may be. If you want to see me, we can meet at Windygates without
being discovered. Come at luncheon-time--go around by the shrubbery--and
step in at the library window. You know as well as I do there is nobody
in the library at that hour. Don't say it's impossible--you don't know
what may happen. I shall wait ten minutes every day on the chance of
seeing you. That's settled--and it's settled that you write. Before I
go, darling, is there any thing else we can think of for the future?"

At those words Anne suddenly shook off the depression that weighed on
her. She caught Blanche in her arms, she held Blanche to her bosom with
a fierce energy. "Will you always be to me, in the future, what you are
now?" she asked, abruptly. "Or is the time coming when you will hate
me?" She prevented any reply by a kiss--and pushed Blanche toward the
door. "We have had a happy time together in the years that are gone,"
she said, with a farewell wave of her hand. "Thank God for that! And
never mind the rest."

She threw open the bedroom door, and called to the maid, in the
sitting-room. "Miss Lundie is waiting for you." Blanche pressed her
hand, and left her.

Anne waited a while in the bedroom, listening to the sound made by the
departure of the carriage from the inn door. Little by little, the tramp
of the horses and the noise of the rolling wheels lessened and lessened.
When the last faint sounds were lost in silence she stood for a moment
thinking--then, rousing on a sudden, hurried into the sitting-room, and
rang the bell.