yet come, Mr. Brinkworth, when I shall prove it."

"I hope not, Miss Silvester. Good-by, and good luck!"

She withdrew into her own room. Arnold locked the sitting-room door, and
stretched himself on the sofa for the night.

* * * * *

The morning was bright, the air was delicious after the storm.

Arnold had gone, as he had promised, before Anne was out of her room.
It was understood at the inn that important business had unexpectedly
called him south. Mr. Bishopriggs had been presented with a handsome
gratuity; and Mrs. Inchbare had been informed that the rooms were taken
for a week certain.

In every quarter but one the march of events had now, to all appearance,
fallen back into a quiet course. Arnold was on his way to his estate;
Blanche was safe at Windygates; Anne's residence at the inn was assured
for a week to come. The one present doubt was the doubt which hung over
Geoffrey's movements. The one event still involved in darkness turned on
the question of life or death waiting for solution in London--otherwise,
the question of Lord Holchester's health. Taken by itself, the
alternative, either way, was plain enough. If my lord lived--Geoffrey
would be free to come back, and marry her privately in Scotland. If
my lord died--Geoffrey would be free to send for her, and marry her
publicly in London. But could Geoffrey be relied on?

Anne went out on to the terrace-ground in front of the inn. The cool