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unequal to it. My head burns! my heart stifles me!ā€

She began to pace the room again. Aggravated by the effect of the storm on her nerves, her first vague distrust of the false position into which she and Arnold had allowed themselves to drift had strengthened, by this time, into a downright horror of their situation which was not to be endured. Nothing could justify such a risk as the risk they were now running! They had dined together like married peopleā€”and there they were, at that moment, shut in together, and passing the evening like man and wife!

ā€œOh, Mr. Brinkworth!ā€ she pleaded. ā€œThinkā€”for Blancheā€™s sake, thinkā€”is there no way out of this?ā€

Arnold was quietly collecting the scattered cards.

ā€œBlanche, again?ā€ he said, with the most exasperating composure. ā€œI wonder how she feels, in this storm?ā€

In Anneā€™s excited state, the reply almost maddened her. She turned from Arnold, and hurried to the door.

ā€œI donā€™t care!ā€ she cried, wildly. ā€œI wonā€™t let this deception go on. Iā€™ll do what I ought to have done before. Come what may of it, Iā€™ll tell the landlady the truth!ā€

She had opened the door, and was on the point of stepping into the passageā€”when she stopped, and started violently. Was it possible, in that dreadful weather, that she had actually heard the sound of carriage wheels on the strip of paved road outside the inn?

Yes! others had heard the sound too. The hobbling figure of Mr. Bishopriggs passed her in the passage, making for the house door. The hard voice of the landlady rang through the inn, ejaculating astonishment in broad Scotch. Anne closed the sitting-room door again, and turned to Arnoldā€”who had risen, in surprise, to his feet.

ā€œTravelers!ā€ she exclaimed. ā€œAt this time!ā€

ā€œAnd in this weather!ā€ added Arnold.

ā€œCan it be Geoffrey?ā€ she askedā€”going back to the old vain delusion that he might yet feel for her, and return.

Arnold shook his head. ā€œNot Geoffrey. Whoever else it may beā€”not Geoffrey!ā€

Mrs. Inchbare suddenly entered the roomā€”with her cap-ribb ons flying, her eyes staring, and her bones looking harder than ever.

ā€œEh, mistress!ā€ she said to Anne. ā€œWha do ye think has driven here to see ye, from Windygates Hoose, and been owertaken in the storm?ā€

Anne was speechless. Arnold put the question: ā€œWho is it?ā€

ā€œWha isā€™t?ā€ repeated Mrs. Inchbare. ā€œItā€™s joost the bonny young leddyā€”Miss Blanche herselā€™.ā€

An irrepressible cry of horror burst from Anne. The landlady set it down to the lightning, which flashed into the room again at the same moment.

ā€œEh, mistress! yeā€™ll find Miss Blanche a bit baulder than to skirl at a flash oā€™ lightning, that gait! Here she is, the bonny birdie!ā€ exclaimed Mrs. Inchbare, deferentially backing out into the passage again.

Blancheā€™s voice reached them, calling for Anne.

Anne caught Arnold by the hand and wrung it hard. ā€œGo!ā€ she whispered. The next instant she was at the mantle-piece, and had blown out both the candles.

Another flash of lightning came through the darkness, and showed Blancheā€™s figure standing at the door.

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

BLANCHE.

MRS. INCHBARE was the first person who acted in the emergency. She called for lights; and sternly rebuked the house-maid, who brought them, for not having closed the house door. ā€œYe feckless neā€™er-do-weel!ā€ cried the landlady; ā€œthe windā€™s blawn the candles oot.ā€

The woman declared (with perfect truth) that the door had been closed. An awkward dispute might have ensued if Blanche had not diverted Mrs. Inchbareā€™s attention to herself. The appearance of the lights disclosed her, wet through with her arms round Anneā€™s neck. Mrs. Inchbare digressed at once to the pressing question of changing the young ladyā€™s clothes, and gave Anne the opportunity of looking round her, unobserved. Arnold had made his escape before the candles had been brought in.

In the mean time Blancheā€™s attention was absorbed in her own dripping skirts.

ā€œGood gracious! Iā€™m absolutely distilling rain from every part of me. And Iā€™m making you, Anne, as wet as I am! Lend me some dry things. You canā€™t? Mrs. Inchbare, what does your experience suggest? Which had I better do? Go to bed while my clothes are being dried? or borrow from your wardrobeā€”though you are a head and shoulders taller than I am?ā€

Mrs. Inchbare instantly bustled out to fetch the choicest garments that her wardrobe could produce. The moment the door had closed on her Blanche looked round the room in her turn.

The rights of affection having been already asserted, the claims of curiosity naturally pressed for satisfaction next.

ā€œSomebody passed me in the dark,ā€ she whispered. ā€œWas it your husband? Iā€™m dying to be introduced to him. And, oh my dear! what is your married name?ā€

Anne answered, coldly, ā€œWait a little. I canā€™t speak about it yet.ā€

ā€œAre you ill?ā€ asked Blanche.

ā€œI am a little nervous.ā€

ā€œHas any thing unpleasant happened between you and my uncle? You have seen him, havenā€™t you?ā€

ā€œYes.ā€

ā€œDid he give you my message?ā€

ā€œHe gave me your message.ā€”Blanche! you promised him to stay at Windygates. Why, in the name of heaven, did you come here to-night?ā€

ā€œIf you were half as fond of me as I am of you,ā€ returned Blanche, ā€œyou wouldnā€™t ask that. I tried hard to keep my promise, but I couldnā€™t do it. It was all very well, while my uncle was laying down the lawā€”with Lady Lundie in a rage, and the dogs barking, and the doors banging, and all that. The excitement kept me up. But when my uncle had gone, and the dreadful gray, quiet, rainy evening came, and it had all calmed down again, there was no bearing it. The houseā€”without youā€”was like a tomb. If I had had Arnold with me I might have done very well. But I was all by myself. Think of that! Not a soul to speak to! There wasnā€™t a horrible thing that could possibly happen to you that I didnā€™t fancy was going to happen. I went into your empty room and looked at your things. That settled it, my darling! I rushed down stairsā€”carried away, positively carried away, by an Impulse beyond human resistance. How could I help it? I ask any reasonable person how could I help it? I ran to the stables and found Jacob. Impulseā€”all impulse! I said, ā€˜Get the pony-chaiseā€”I must have a driveā€”I donā€™t care if it rainsā€”you come with me.ā€™ All in a breath, and all impulse! Jacob behaved like an angel. He said, ā€˜All right, miss.ā€™ I am perfectly certain Jacob would die for me if I asked him. He is drinking hot grog at this moment, to prevent him from catching cold, by my express orders. He had the pony-chaise out in two minutes; and off we went. Lady Lundie, my dear, prostrate in her own roomā€”too much sal volatile. I hate her. The rain got worse. I didnā€™t mind it. Jacob didnā€™t mind it. The pony didnā€™t mind it. They had both caught my impulseā€”especially the pony. It didnā€™t come on to thunder till some time afterward; and then we were nearer Craig Fernie than Windygatesā€”to say nothing of your being at one place and not at the other. The lightning was quite awful on the moor. If I had had one of the horses, he would have been frightened. The pony shook his darling little head, and dashed through it. He is to have beer. A mash with beer in itā€”by my express orders. When he has done weā€™ll borrow a lantern, and go into the stable, and kiss him. In the mean time, my dear, here I amā€”wet through in a thunderstorm, which doesnā€™t in the least matterā€”and determined to satisfy my own mind about you, which matters a great deal, and must and shall be done before I rest to-night! ā€

She turned Anne, by main force, as she spoke, toward the light of the candles.

Her tone changed the moment she looked at Anneā€™s face.

ā€œI knew it!ā€ she said. ā€œYou would never have kept the most interesting event in your life a secret from meā€”you would never have written me such a cold formal letter as the letter you left in your roomā€”if there had not been something wrong. I said so at the time. I know it now! Why has your husband forced you to leave Windygates at a momentā€™s notice? Why does he slip out of the room in the dark, as if he was afraid of being seen? Anne! Anne! what has come to you? Why do you receive me in this way?ā€

At that critical moment Mrs. Inchbare reappeared, with the choicest selection of wearing apparel which her wardrobe could furnish. Anne hailed the welcome interruption. She took the candles, and led the way into the bedroom immediately.

ā€œChange your wet clothes first,ā€ she said. ā€œWe can talk after that.ā€

The bedroom door had hardly been closed a minute before there was a tap at it. Signing to Mrs. Inchbare not to interrupt the services she was rendering to Blanche, Anne passed quickly into the sitting-room, and closed the door behind her. To her infinite relief, she only found herself face to face with the discreet Mr. Bishopriggs.

ā€œWhat do you want?ā€ she asked.

The eye of Mr. Bishopriggs announced, by a wink, that his mission was of a confidential nature. The hand of Mr. Bishopriggs wavered; the breath of Mr. Bishopriggs exhaled a spirituous fume. He slowly produced a slip of paper, with some lines of writing on it.

ā€œFrom ye ken who,ā€ he explained, jocosely. ā€œA bit love-letter, I trow, from him thatā€™s dear to ye. Eh! heā€™s an awfuā€™ reprobate is him thatā€™s dear to ye. Miss, in the bedchamber there, will nae doot be the one heā€™s jilted for you? I see it allā€”ye canā€™t blind Meā€”I haā€™ been a frail person my ain self, in my time. Hech! heā€™s safe and sound, is the reprobate. I haā€™ lookit after aā€™ his little creature-comfortsā€”Iā€™m joost a fether to him, as well as a fether to you. Trust Bishopriggsā€”when puir human nature wants a bit pat on the back, trust Bishopriggs.ā€

While the sage was speaking these comfortable words, Anne was reading the lines traced on the paper. They were signed by Arnold; and they ran thus:

ā€œI am in the smoking-room of the inn. It rests with you to say whether I must stop there. I donā€™t believe Blanche would be jealous. If I knew how to explain my being at the inn without betraying the confidence which you and Geoffrey have placed in me, I wouldnā€™t be away from her another moment. It does grate on me so! At the same time, I donā€™t want to make your position harder than it is. Think of yourself f irst. I leave it in your hands. You have only to say, Wait, by the bearerā€”and I shall understand that I am to stay where I am till I hear from you again.ā€

Anne looked up from the message.

ā€œAsk him to wait,ā€ she said; ā€œand I will send word to him again.ā€

ā€œWiā€™ mony loves and kisses,ā€ suggested Mr. Bishopriggs, as a necessary supplement to the message.ā€ Eh! it comes as easy as A. B. C. to a man oā€™ my experience. Ye can haā€™ nae better gae-between than yer puir servant to command, Sawmuel Bishopriggs. I understand ye baith pairfeckly.ā€ He laid his forefinger along his flaming nose, and withdrew.

Without allowing herself to hesitate for an instant, Anne opened the bedroom doorā€”with the resolution of relieving Arnold from the new sacrifice imposed on him by owning the truth.

ā€œIs that you?ā€ asked Blanche.

At the sound of her voice, Anne started back guiltily. ā€œIā€™ll

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