IT was Saturday, the third of October--the day on which theassertion of Arnold's marriage to Anne Silvester was to be put tothe proof.

Toward two o'clock in the afternoon Blanche and her step-motherentered the drawing-room of Lady Lundie's town house in PortlandPlace.

Since the previous evening the weather had altered for the worse.The rain, which had set in from an early hour that morning, stillfell. Viewed from the drawing-room windows, the desolation ofPortland Place in the dead season wore its aspect of deepestgloom. The dreary opposite houses were all shut up; the black mudwas inches deep in the roadway; the soot, floating in tiny blackparticles, mixed with the falling rain, and heightened the dirtyobscurity of the rising mist. Foot-passengers and vehicles,succeeding each other at rare intervals, left great gaps ofsilence absolutely uninterrupted by sound. Even the grinders oforgans were mute; and the wandering dogs of the street were toowet to bark. Looking back from the view out of Lady Lundie'sstate windows to the view in Lady Lundie's state room, themelancholy that reigned without was more than matched by themelancholy that reigned within. The house had been shut up forthe season: it had not been considered necessary, during itsmistress's brief visit, to disturb the existing state of things.Coverings of dim brown hue shrouded the furniture. Thechandeliers hung invisible in enormous bags. The silent clockshibernated under extinguishers dropped over them two monthssince. The tables, drawn up in corners--loaded with ornaments atother times--had nothing but pen, ink, and paper (suggestive ofthe coming proceedings) placed on them now. The smell of thehouse was musty; the voice of the house was still. One melancholymaid haunted the bedrooms up stairs, like a ghost. One melancholyman, appointed to admit the visitors, sat solitary in the lowerregions--the last of the flunkies, mouldering in an extinctservants' hall. Not a word passed, in the drawing-room, betweenLady Lundie and Blanche. Each waited the appearance of thepersons concerned in the coming inquiry, absorbed in her ownthoughts. Their situation at the moment was a solemn burlesque ofthe situation of two ladies who are giving an evening party, andwho are waiting to receive their guests. Did neither of them seethis? Or, seeing it, did they shrink from acknowledging it? Insimilar positions, who does not shrink? The occasions are many onwhich we have excellent reason to laugh when the tears are in oureyes; but only children are bold enough to follow the impulse. Sostrangely, in human existence, does the mockery of what isserious mingle with the serious reality itself, that nothing butour own self-respect preserves our gravity at some of the mostimportant emergencies in our lives. The two ladies waited thecoming ordeal together gravely, as became the occasion. Thesilent maid flitted noiseless up stairs. The silent man waitedmotionless in the lower regions. Outside, the street was adesert. Inside, the house was a tomb.

The church clock struck the hour. Two.

At the same moment the first of the persons concerned in theinvestigation arrived.

Lady Lundie waited composedly for the opening of the drawing-roomdoor. Blanche started, and trembled. Was it Arnold? Was it Anne?

The door opened--and Blanche drew a breath of relief. The firstarrival was only Lady Lundie's solicitor--invited to attend theproceedings on her ladyship's behalf. He was one of that largeclass of purely mechanical and perfectly mediocre personsconnected with the practice of the law who will probably, in amore advanced state of science, be superseded by machinery. Hemade himself useful in altering the arrangement of the tables andchairs, so as to keep the contending parties effectuallyseparated from each other. He also entreated Lady Lundie to bearin mind that he knew nothing of Scotch law, and that he was therein the capacity of a friend only. This done, he sat down, andlooked out with silent interest at the rain--as if it was anoperation of Nature which he had never had an opportunity ofinspecting before.

The next knock at the door heralded the arrival of a visitor of atotally different order. The melancholy man-servant announcedCaptain Newenden.

Possibly, in deference to the occasion, possibly, in defiance ofthe weather, the captain had taken another backward step towardthe days of his youth. He was painted and padded, wigged anddressed, to represent the abstract idea of a male human being offive-and twenty in robust health. There might have been a littlestiffness in the region of the waist, and a slight want offirmness in the eyelid and the chin. Otherwise there was thefiction of five-and twenty, founded in appearance on the fact offive-and-thirty--with the truth invisible behind it, countingseventy years! Wearing a flower in his buttonhole, and carrying ajaunty little cane in his hand--brisk, rosy, smiling,perfumed--the captain's appearance brightened the dreary room. Itwas pleasantly suggestive of a morning visit from an idle youngman. He appeared to be a little surprised to find Blanche presenton the scene of approaching conflict. Lady Lundie thought it dueto herself to explain. "My s tep-daughter is here in directdefiance of my entreaties and my advice. Persons may presentthemselves whom it is, in my opinion, improper she should see.Revelations will take place which no young woman, in herposition, should hear. She insists on it, Captain Newenden--and Iam obliged to submit."

The captain shrugged his shoulders, and showed his beautifulteeth.

Blanche was far too deeply interested in the coming ordeal tocare to defend herself: she looked as if she had not even heardwhat her step-mother had said of her. The solicitor remainedabsorbed in the interesting view of the falling rain. Lady Lundieasked after Mrs. Glenarm. The captain, in reply, described hisniece's anxiety as something--something--something, in short,only to be indicated by shaking his ambrosial curls and wavinghis jaunty cane. Mrs. Delamayn was staying with her until heruncle returned with the news. And where was Julius? Detained inScotland by election business. And Lord and Lady Holchester? Lordand Lady Holchester knew nothing about it.

There was another knock at the door. Blanche's pale face turnedpaler still. Was it Arnold? Was it Anne? After a longer delaythan usual, the servant announced Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn and Mr.Moy.

Geoffrey, slowly entering first, saluted the two ladies insilence, and noticed no one else. The London solicitor,withdrawing himself for a moment from the absorbing prospect ofthe rain, pointed to the places reserved for the new-comer andfor the legal adviser whom he had brought with him. Geoffreyseated himself, without so much as a glance round the room.Leaning his elbows on his knees, he vacantly traced patterns onthe carpet with his clumsy oaken walking-stick. Stolidindifference expressed itself in his lowering brow and hisloosely-hanging mouth. The loss of the race, and thecircumstances accompanying it, appeared to have made him dullerthan usual and heavier than usual--and that was all.

Captain Newenden, approaching to speak to him, stopped half-way,hesitated, thought better of it--and addressed himself to Mr.Moy.

Geoffrey's legal adviser--a Scotchman of the ruddy, ready, andconvivial type--cordially met the advance. He announced, in replyto the captain's inquiry, that the witnesses (Mrs. Inchbare andBishopriggs) were waiting below until they were wanted, in thehousekeeper's room. Had there been any difficulty in findingthem? Not the least. Mrs. Inchbare was, as a matter of course, ather hotel. Inquiries being set on foot for Bishopriggs, itappeared that he and the landlady had come to an understanding,and that he had returned to his old post of headwaiter at theinn. The captain and Mr. Moy kept up the conversation betweenthem, thus begun, with unflagging ease and spirit. Theirs werethe only voices heard in the trying interval that elapsed beforethe next knock was heard at the door.

At last it came. There could be no doubt now as to the personswho might next be expected to enter the room. Lady Lundie tookher step-daughter firmly by the hand. She was not sure of whatBlanche's first impulse might lead her to do. For the first timein her life, Blanche left her hand willingly in her step-mother'sgrasp.

The door opened, and they came in.

Sir Patrick Lundie entered first, with Anne Silvester on his arm.Arnold Brinkworth followed them.

Both Sir Patrick and Anne bowed in silence to the personsassembled. Lady Lundie ceremoniously returned herbrother-in-law's salute--and pointedly abstained from noticingAnne's presence in the room. Blanche never looked up. Arnoldadvanced to her, with his hand held out. Lady Lundie rose, andmotioned him back. "Not _yet,_ Mr. Brinkworth!" she said, in hermost quietly merciless manner. Arnold stood, heedless of her,looking at his wife. His wife lifted her eyes to his; the tearsrose in them on the instant. Arnold's dark complexion turned ashypale under the effort that it cost him to command himself. "Iwon't distress you," he said, gently--and turned back again tothe table at which Sir Patrick and Anne were seated togetherapart from the rest. Sir Patrick took his hand, and pressed it insilent approval.

The one person who took no part, even as spectator, in the eventsthat followed the appearance of Sir Patrick and his companions inthe room--was Geoffrey. The only change visible in him was achange in the handling of his walking-stick. Instead of tracingpatterns on the carpet, it beat a tattoo. For the rest, there hesat with his heavy head on his breast and his brawny arms on hisknees--weary of it by anticipation before it had begun.

Sir Patrick broke the silence. He addressed himself to hissister-in-law.

"Lady Lundie, are all the persons present whom you expected tosee here to-day?"

The gathered venom in Lady Lundie seized the opportunity ofplanting its first sting.

"All whom I expected are here," she answered. "And more than Iexpected," she added, with a look at Anne.

The look was not returned--was not even seen. From the momentwhen she had taken her place by Sir Patrick, Anne's eyes hadrested on Blanche. They never moved--they never for an instantlost their tender sadness--when the woman who hated her spoke.All that was beautiful and true in that noble nature seemed tofind its one sufficient encouragement in Blanche. As she lookedonce more at the sister of the unforgotten days of old, itsnative beauty of expression shone out again in her worn and wearyface. Every man in the room (but Geoffrey) looked at her; andevery man (but Geoffrey) felt for her.

Sir Patrick addressed a second question to his sister-in-law.

"Is there any one here to represent the interests of Mr. GeoffreyDelamayn?" he asked.

Lady Lundie referred Sir Patrick to Geoffrey himself. Withoutlooking up, Geoffrey motioned with his big brown hand to Mr. Moy,sitting by his side.

Mr. Moy (holding the legal rank in Scotland which corresponds tothe rank held by solicitors in England) rose and bowed to SirPatrick, with the courtesy due to a man eminent in his time atthe Scottish Bar.

"I represent Mr. Delamayn," he said. "I congratulate myself, SirPatrick, on having your ability and experience to appeal to inthe conduct of the pending inquiry."

Sir Patrick returned the compliment as well as the bow.

"It is I who should learn from you," he answered. "_I_ have hadtime, Mr. Moy, to forget what I once knew."

Lady Lundie looked from one to the other with unconcealedimpatience as these formal courtesies were exchanged between thelawyers. "Allow me to remind you, gentlemen, of the suspense thatwe are suffering at this end of the room," she said. "And permitme to ask when you propose to begin?"

Sir Patrick looked invitingly at Mr. Moy. Mr. Moy lookedinvitingly at Sir Patrick. More formal courtesies! a politecontest this time as to which of the two learned gentlemen shouldpermit the other to speak first! Mr. Moy's modesty proving to bequite immovable, Sir Patrick ended it by opening the proceedings.

"I am here," he said, "to act on behalf of my friend, Mr. ArnoldBrinkworth. I beg to present him to you, Mr. Moy as the husbandof my niece--to whom he was lawfully married on the seventh ofSeptember last, at the Church of Saint Margaret, in the parish ofHawley, Kent. I have a copy of the marriage certificate here--ifyou wish to look at it."

Mr. Moy's modesty declined to look at it.

"Quite needless, Sir Patrick! I admit that a marriage ceremonytook place on the date named, between the persons named; but Icontend that it was not a valid marriage. I say, on behalf of myclient here present (Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn), that ArnoldBrinkworth was married at a date prior to the seventh ofSeptember last--namely, on the fourteenth of August in this year,and at a place called Craig Fernie, in Scotland--to a lady namedAnne Silvester, now living, and present among us (as Iunderstand) at this moment."

Sir Patrick presented Anne. "This is the lady, Mr. Moy."

Mr. Moy bowed, and made a suggestion. "To save needlessformalities, Sir Patrick, shall we take the question of identityas established on both sides?"

Sir Patrick agreed with his learned friend. Lad y Lundie openedand shut her fan in undisguised impatience. The London solicitorwas deeply interested. Captain Newenden, taking out hishandkerchief, and using it as a screen, yawned behind it to hisheart's content. Sir Patrick resumed.

"You assert the prior marriage," he said to his colleague. "Itrests with you to begin."

Mr. Moy cast a preliminary look round him at the personsassembled.

"The object of our meeting here," he said, "is, if I am notmistaken, of a twofold nature. In the first place, it is thoughtdesirable, by a person who has a special interest in the issue ofthis inquiry" (he glanced at the captain--the captain suddenlybecame attentive), "to put my client's assertion, relating to Mr.Brinkworth's marriage, to the proof. In the second place, we areall equally desirous--whatever difference of opinion mayotherwise exist--to make this informal inquiry a means, ifpossible, of avoiding the painful publicity which would resultfrom an appeal to a Court of Law."

At those words the gathered venom in Lady Lundie planted itssecond sting--under cover of a protest addressed to Mr. Moy.

"I beg to inform you, Sir, on behalf of my step-daughter," shesaid, "that we have nothing to dread from the widest publicity.We consent to be present at, what you call, 'this informalinquiry,' reserving our right to carry the matter beyond the fourwalls of this room. I am not referring now to Mr. Brinkworth'schance of clearing himself from an odious suspicion which restsupon him, and upon another Person present. That is anafter-matter. The object immediately before us--so far as a womancan pretend to understand it--is to establish my step-daughter'sright to call Mr. Brinkworth to account in the character of hiswife. If the result, so far, fails to satisfy us in thatparticular, we shall not hesitate to appeal to a Court of Law."She leaned back in her chair, and opened her fan, and lookedround her with the air of a woman who called society to witnessthat she had done her duty.

An expression of pain crossed Blanche's face while herstep-mother was speaking. Lady Lundie took her hand for thesecond time. Blanche resolutely and pointedly withdrew it--SirPatrick noticing the action with special interest. Before Mr. Moycould say a word in answer, Arnold centred the general attentionon himself by suddenly interfering in the proceedings. Blanchelooked at him. A bright flash of color appeared on her face--andleft it again. Sir Patrick noted the change of color--andobserved her more attentively than ever. Arnold's letter to hiswife, with time to help it, had plainly shaken her ladyship'sinfluence over Blanche.

"After what Lady Lundie has said, in my wife's presence," Arnoldburst out, in his straightforward, boyish way, "I think I oughtto be allowed to say a word on my side. I only want to explainhow it was I came to go to Craig Fernie at all--and I challengeMr. Geoffrey Delamayn to deny it, if he can."

His voice rose at the last words, and his eyes brightened withindignation as he looked at Geoffrey.

Mr. Moy appealed to his learned friend.

"With submission, Sir Patrick, to your better judgment," he said,"this young gentleman's proposal seems to be a little out ofplace at the present stage of the proceedings."

"Pardon me," answered Sir Patrick. "You have yourself describedthe proceedings as representing an informal inquiry. An informalproposal--with submission to _your_ better judgment, Mr. Moy--ishardly out of place, under those circumstances, is it?"

Mr. Moy's inexhaustible modesty gave way, without a struggle. Theanswer which he received had the effect of puzzling him at theoutset of the investigation. A man of Sir Patrick's experiencemust have known that Arnold's mere assertion of his own innocencecould be productive of nothing but useless delay in theproceedings. And yet he sanctioned that delay. Was he privatelyon the watch for any accidental circumstance which might help himto better a case that he knew to be a bad one?

Permitted to speak, Arnold spoke. The unmistakable accent oftruth was in every word that he uttered. He gave a fairlycoherent account of events, from the time when Geoffrey hadclaimed his assistance at the lawn-party to the time when hefound himself at the door of the inn at Craig Fernie. There SirPatrick interfered, and closed his lips. He asked leave to appealto Geoffrey to confirm him. Sir Patrick amazed Mr. Moy bysanctioning this irregularity also. Arnold sternly addressedhimself to Geoffrey.

"Do you deny that what I have said is true?" he asked.

Mr. Moy did his duty by his client. "You are not bound toanswer," he said, "unless you wish it yourself."

Geoffrey slowly lifted his heavy head, and confronted the manwhom he had betrayed.

"I deny every word of it," he answered--with a stolid defiance oftone and manner

"Have we had enough of assertion and counter-assertion, SirPatrick, by this time?" asked Mr. Moy, with undiminishedpoliteness.

After first forcing Arnold--with some little difficulty--tocontrol himself, Sir Patrick raised Mr. Moy's astonishment to theculminating point. For reasons of his own, he determined tostrengthen the favorable impression which Arnold's statement hadplainly produced on his wife before the inquiry proceeded a stepfarther.

"I must throw myself on your indulgence, Mr. Moy," he said. "Ihave not had enough of assertion and counter-assertion, evenyet."

Mr. Moy leaned back in his chair, with a mixed expression ofbewilderment and resignation. Either his colleague's intellectwas in a failing state--or his colleague had some purpose in viewwhich had not openly asserted itself yet. He began to suspectthat the right reading of the riddle was involved in the latterof those two alternatives. Instead of entering any fresh protest,he wisely waited and watched.

Sir Patrick went on unblushingly from one irregularity toanother.

"I request Mr. Moy's permission to revert to the allegedmarriage, on the fourteenth of August, at Craig Fernie," he said."Arnold Brinkworth! answer for yourself, in the presence of thepersons here assembled. In all that you said, and all that youdid, while you were at the inn, were you not solely influenced bythe wish to make Miss Silvester's position as little painful toher as possible, and by anxiety to carry out the instructionsgiven to you by Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn? Is that the whole truth?"

"That is the whole truth, Sir Patrick."

"On the day when you went to Craig Fernie, had you not, a fewhours previously, applied for my permission to marry my niece?"

"I applied for your permission, Sir Patrick; and you gave it me."

"From the moment when you entered the inn to the moment when youleft it, were you absolutely innocent of the slightest intentionto marry Miss Silvester?"

"No such thing as the thought of marrying Miss Silvester everentered my head."

"And this you say, on your word of honor as a gentleman?"

"On my word of honor as a gentleman."

Sir Patrick turned to Anne.

"Was it a matter of necessity, Miss Silvester, that you shouldappear in the assumed character of a married woman--on thefourteenth of August last, at the Craig Fernie inn?"

Anne looked away from Blanche for the first time. She replied toSir Patrick quietly, readily, firmly--Blanche looking at her, andlistening to her with eager interest.

"I went to the inn alone, Sir Patrick. The landlady refused, inthe plainest terms, to let me stay there, unless she was firstsatisfied that I was a married woman."

"Which of the two gentlemen did you expect to join you at theinn--Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, or Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?"

"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn."

"When Mr. Arnold Brinkworth came in his place and said what wasnecessary to satisfy the scruples of the landlady, you understoodthat he was acting in your interests, from motives of kindnessonly, and under the instructions of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?"

"I understood that; and I objected as strongly as I could to Mr.Brinkworth placing himself in a false position on my account."

"Did your objection proceed from any knowledge of the Scottishlaw of marriage, and of the positi on in which the peculiaritiesof that law might place Mr. Brinkworth?"

"I had no knowledge of the Scottish law. I had a vague dislikeand dread of the deception which Mr. Brinkworth was practicing onthe people of the inn. And I feared that it might lead to somepossible misinterpretation of me on the part of a person whom Idearly loved."

"That person being my niece?"

"Yes."

"You appealed to Mr. Brinkworth (knowing of his attachment to myniece), in her name, and for her sake, to leave you to shift foryourself?"

"I did."

"As a gentleman who had given his promise to help and protect alady, in the absence of the person whom she had depended on tojoin her, he refused to leave you to shift by yourself?"

"Unhappily, he refused on that account."

"From first to last, you were absolutely innocent of theslightest intention to marry Mr. Brinkworth?"

"I answer, Sir Patrick, as Mr. Brinkworth has answered. No suchthing as the thought of marrying him ever entered my head."

"And this you say, on your oath as a Christian woman?"

"On my oath as a Christian woman."

Sir Patrick looked round at Blanche. Her face was hidden in herhands. Her step-mother was vainly appealing to her to composeherself.

In the moment of silence that followed, Mr. Moy interfered in theinterests of his client.

"I waive my claim, Sir Patrick, to put any questions on my side.I merely desire to remind you, and to remind the company present,that all that we have just heard is mere assertion--on the partof two persons strongly interested in extricating themselves froma position which fatally compromises them both. The marriagewhich they deny I am now waiting to prove--not by assertion, onmy side, but by appeal to competent witnesses."

After a brief consultation with her own solicitor, Lady Lundiefollowed Mr. Moy, in stronger language still.

"I wish you to understand, Sir Patrick, before you proceed anyfarther, that I shall remove my step-daughter from the room ifany more attempts are made to harrow her feelings and mislead herjudgment. I want words to express my sense of this most cruel andunfair way of conducting the inquiry."

The London lawyer followed, stating his professional approval ofhis client's view. "As her ladyship's legal adviser," he said, "Isupport the protest which her ladyship has just made."

Even Captain Newenden agreed in the general disapproval of SirPatrick's conduct. "Hear, hear!" said the captain, when thelawyer had spoken. "Quite right. I must say, quite right."

Apparently impenetrable to all due sense of his position, SirPatrick addressed himself to Mr. Moy, as if nothing had happened.

"Do you wish to produce your witnesses at once?" he asked. "Ihave not the least objection to meet your views--on theunderstanding that I am permitted to return to the proceedings asinterrupted at this point."

Mr. Moy considered. The adversary (there could be no doubt of itby this time) had something in reserve--and the adversary had notyet shown his hand. It was more immediately important to lead himinto doing this than to insist on rights and privileges of thepurely formal sort. Nothing could shake the strength of theposition which Mr. Moy occupied. The longer Sir Patrick'sirregularities delayed the proceedings, the more irresistibly theplain facts of the case would assert themselves--with all theforce of contrast--out of the mouths of the witnesses who were inattendance down stairs. He determined to wait.

"Reserving my right of objection, Sir Patrick," he answered, "Ibeg you to go on."

To the surprise of every body, Sir Patrick addressed himselfdirectly to Blanche--quoting the language in which Lady Lundiehad spoken to him, with perfect composure of tone and manner.

"You know me well enough, my dear," he said, "to be assured thatI am incapable of willingly harrowing your feelings or misleadingyour judgment. I have a question to ask you, which you can answeror not, entirely as you please."

Before he could put the question there was a momentary contestbetween Lady Lundie and her legal adviser. Silencing her ladyship(not without difficulty), the London lawyer interposed. He alsobegged leave to reserve the right of objection, so far as _his_client was concerned.

Sir Patrick assented by a sign, and proceeded to put his questionto Blanche.

"You have heard what Arnold Brinkworth has said, and what MissSilvester has said," he resumed. "The husband who loves you, andthe sisterly friend who loves you, have each made a solemndeclaration. Recall your past experience of both of them;remember what they have just said; and now tell me--do youbelieve they have spoken falsely?"

Blanche answered on the instant.

"I believe, uncle, they have spoken the truth!"

Both the lawyers registered their objections. Lady Lundie madeanother attempt to speak, and was stopped once more--this time byMr. Moy as well as by her own adviser. Sir Patrick went on.

"Do you feel any doubt as to the entire propriety of yourhusband's conduct and your friend's conduct, now you have seenthem and heard them, face to face?"

Blanche answered again, with the same absence of reserve.

"I ask them to forgive me," she said. "I believe I have done themboth a great wrong."

She looked at her husband first--then at Anne. Arnold attemptedto leave his chair. Sir Patrick firmly restrained him. "Wait!" hewhispered. "You don't know what is coming." Having said that, heturned toward Anne. Blanche's look had gone to the heart of thefaithful woman who loved her. Anne's face was turned away--thetears were forcing themselves through the worn weak hands thattried vainly to hide them.

The formal objections of the lawyers were registered once more.Sir Patrick addressed himself to his niece for the last time.

"You believe what Arnold Brinkworth has said; you believe whatMiss Silvester has said. You know that not even the thought ofmarriage was in the mind of either of them, at the inn. Youknow--whatever else may happen in the future--that there is notthe most remote possibility of either of them consenting toacknowledge that they ever have been, or ever can be, Man andWife. Is that enough for you? Are you willing, before thisinquiry proceeds any farther to take your husband's hand; toreturn to your husband's protection; and to leave the rest tome--satisfied with my assurance that, on the facts as theyhappened, not even the Scotch Law can prove the monstrousassertion of the marriage at Craig Fernie to be true?"

Lady Lundie rose. Both the lawyers rose. Arnold sat lost inastonishment. Geoffrey himself--brutishly careless thus far ofall that had passed--lifted his head with a sudden start. In themidst of the profound impression thus produced, Blanche, on whosedecision the whole future course of the inquiry now turned,answered in these words:

"I hope you will not think me ungrateful, uncle. I am sure thatArnold has not, knowingly, done me any wrong. But I can't go backto him until I am first _certain_ that I am his wife."

Lady Lundie embraced her step-daughter with a sudden outburst ofaffection. "My dear child!" exclaimed her ladyship, fervently."Well done, my own dear child!"

Sir Patrick's head dropped on his breast. "Oh, Blanche! Blanche!"Arnold heard him whisper to himself; "if you only knew what youare forcing me to!"

Mr. Moy put in his word, on Blanche's side of the question.

"I must most respectfully express my approval also of the coursewhich the young lady has taken," he said. "A more dangerouscompromise than the compromise which we have just heard suggestedit is difficult to imagine. With all deference to Sir PatrickLundie, his opinion of the impossibility of proving the marriageat Craig Fernie remains to be confirmed as the right one. My ownprofessional opinion is opposed to it. The opinion of anotherScottish lawyer (in Glasgow) is, to my certain knowledge, opposedto it. If the young lady had not acted with a wisdom and couragewhich do her honor, she might have lived to see the day when herreputation would have been destroyed, and her children declaredillegitimate. Who is to say that circumstances may not h appen inthe future which may force Mr. Brinkworth or Miss Silvester--oneor the other--to assert the very marriage which they repudiatenow? Who is to say that interested relatives (property beingconcerned here) may not in the lapse of years, discover motivesof their own for questioning the asserted marriage in Kent? Iacknowledge that I envy the immense self-confidence whichemboldens Sir Patrick to venture, what he is willing to ventureupon his own individual opinion on an undecided point of law."

He sat down amidst a murmur of approval, and cast aslyly-expectant look at his defeated adversary. "If _that_doesn't irritate him into showing his hand," thought Mr. Moy,"nothing will!"

Sir Patrick slowly raised his head. There was noirritation--there was only distress in his face--when he spokenext.

"I don't propose, Mr. Moy, to argue the point with you," he said,gently. "I can understand that my conduct must necessarily appearstrange and even blameworthy, not in your eyes only, but in theeyes of others. My young friend here will tell you" (he lookedtoward Arnold) "that the view which you express as to the futureperil involved in this case was once the view in my mind too, andthat in what I have done thus far I have acted in directcontradiction to advice which I myself gave at no very distantperiod. Excuse me, if you please, from entering (for the presentat least) into the motive which has influenced me from the timewhen I entered this room. My position is one of unexampledresponsibility and of indescribable distress. May I appeal tothat statement to stand as my excuse, if I plead for a lastextension of indulgence toward the last irregularity of which Ishall be guilty, in connection with these proceedings?"

Lady Lundie alone resisted the unaffected and touching dignitywith which those words were spoken.

"We have had enough of irregularity," she said. sternly. "I, forone, object to more."

Sir Patrick waited patiently for Mr. Moy's reply. The Scotchlawyer and the English lawyer looked at each other--andunderstood each other. Mr. Moy answered for both.

"We don't presume to restrain you, Sir Patrick, by other limitsthan those which, as a gentleman, you impose on yourself.Subject," added the cautious Scotchman, "to the right ofobjection which we have already reserved."

"Do you object to my speaking to your client?" asked Sir Patrick.

"To Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?"

"Yes."

All eyes turned on Geoffrey. He was sitting half asleep, as itseemed--with his heavy hands hanging listlessly over his knees,and his chin resting on the hooked handle of his stick.

Looking toward Anne, when Sir Patrick pronounced Geoffrey's name,Mr. Moy saw a change in her. She withdrew her hands from herface, and turned suddenly toward her legal adviser. Was she inthe secret of the carefully concealed object at which hisopponent had been aiming from the first? Mr. Moy decided to putthat doubt to the test. He invited Sir Patrick, by a gesture, toproceed. Sir Patrick addressed himself to Geoffrey.

"You are seriously interested in this inquiry," he said; "and youhave taken no part in it yet. Take a part in it now. Look at thislady."

Geoffrey never moved.

"I've seen enough of her already," he said, brutally.

"You may well be ashamed to look at her," said Sir Patrick,quietly. "But you might have acknowledged it in fitter words.Carry your memory back to the fourteenth of August. Do you denythat you promised to many Miss Silvester privately at the CraigFernie inn?"

"I object to that question," said Mr. Moy. "My client is under nosort of obligation to answer it."

Geoffrey's rising temper--ready to resent any thing--resented hisadviser's interference. "I shall answer if I like," he retorted,insolently. He looked up for a moment at Sir Patrick, withoutmoving his chin from the hook of his stick. Then he looked downagain. "I do deny it," he said.

"You deny that you have promised to marry Miss Silvester?"

"Yes."

"I asked you just now to look at her--"

"And I told you I had seen enough of her already."

"Look at _me._ In my presence, and in the presence of the otherpersons here, do you deny that you owe this lady, by your ownsolemn engagement, the reparation of marriage?"

He suddenly lifted his head. His eyes, after resting for aninstant only on Sir Patrick, turned, little by little; and,brightening slowly, fixed themselves with a hideous, tigerishglare on Anne's face. "I know what I owe her," he said.

The devouring hatred of his look was matched by the ferociousvindictiveness of his tone, as he spoke those words. It washorrible to see him; it was horrible to hear him. Mr. Moy said tohim, in a whisper, "Control yourself, or I will throw up yourcase."

Without answering--without even listening--he lifted one of hishands, and looked at it vacantly. He whispered something tohimself; and counted out what he was whispering slowly; indivisions of his own, on three of his fingers in succession. Hefixed his eyes again on Anne with the same devouring hatred intheir look, and spoke (this time directly addressing himself toher) with the same ferocious vindictiveness in his tone. "But foryou, I should be married to Mrs. Glenarm. But for you, I shouldbe friends with my father. But for you, I should have won therace. I know what I owe you." His loosely hanging handsstealthily clenched themselves. His head sank again on his broadbreast. He said no more.

Not a soul moved--not a word was spoken. The same common horrorheld them all speechless. Anne's eyes turned once more onBlanche. Anne's courage upheld her, even at that moment.

Sir Patrick rose. The strong emotion which he had suppressed thusfar, showed itself plainly in his face--uttered itself plainly inhis voice.

"Come into the next room," he said to Anne. "I must speak to youinstantly!"

Without noticing the astonishment that he caused; without payingthe smallest attention to the remonstrances addressed to him byhis sister-in-law and by the Scotch lawyer, he took Anne by thearm, opened the folding-doors at one end of the room--entered theroom beyond with her--and closed the doors again.

Lady Lundie appealed to her legal adviser. Blanche rose--advanceda few steps--and stood in breathless suspense, looking at thefolding-doors. Arnold advanced a step, to speak to his wife. Thecaptain approached Mr. Moy.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

Mr. Moy answered, in strong agitation on his side.

"It means that I have not been properly instructed. Sir PatrickLundie has some evidence in his possession that seriouslycompromises Mr. Delamayn's case. He has shrunk from producing ithitherto--he finds himself forced to produce it now. How is it,"asked the lawyer, turning sternly on his client, "that you haveleft me in the dark?"

"I know nothing about it," answered Geoffrey, without lifting hishead.

Lady Lundie signed to Blanche to stand aside, and advanced towardthe folding-doors. Mr. Moy stopped her.

"I advise your ladyship to be patient. Interference is uselessthere."

"Am I not to interfere, Sir, in my own house?"

"Unless I am entirely mistaken, madam, the end of the proceedingsin your house is at hand. You will damage your own interests byinterfering. Let us know what we are about at last. Let the endcome."

Lady Lundie yielded, and returned to her place. They all waitedin silence for the opening of the doors.

Sir Patrick Lundie and Anne Silvester were alone in the room.

He took from the breast-pocket of his coat the sheet ofnote-paper which contained Anne's letter, and Geoffrey's reply.His hand trembled as he held it; his voice faltered as he spoke.

"I have done all that can be done," he said. "I have left nothinguntried, to prevent the necessity of producing this."

"I feel your kindness gratefully, Sir Patrick. You must produceit now."

The woman's calmness presented a strange and touching contrast tothe man's emotion. There was no shrinking in her face, there wasno unsteadiness in her voice as she answered him. He took herhand. Twice he attempted to speak; and twice his own agitationoverpowered him. He offered the letter to her i n silence.

In silence, on her side, she put the letter away from her,wondering what he meant.

"Take it back," he said. "I can't produce it! I daren't produceit! After what my own eyes have seen, after what my own ears haveheard, in the next room--as God is my witness, I daren't ask youto declare yourself Geoffrey Delamayn's wife!"

She answered him in one word.

"Blanche!"

He shook his head impatiently. "Not even in Blanche's interests!Not even for Blanche's sake! If there is any risk, it is a risk Iam ready to run. I hold to my own opinion. I believe my own viewto be right. Let it come to an appeal to the law! I will fightthe case, and win it."

"Are you _sure_ of winning it, Sir Patrick?"

Instead of replying, he pressed the letter on her. "Destroy it,"he whispered. "And rely on my silence."

She took the letter from him.

"Destroy it," he repeated. "They may open the doors. They maycome in at any moment, and see it in your hand."

"I have something to ask you, Sir Patrick, before I destroy it.Blanche refuses to go back to her husband, unless she returnswith the certain assurance of being really his wife. If I producethis letter, she may go back to him to-day. If I declare myselfGeoffrey Delamayn's wife, I clear Arnold Brinkworth, at once andforever of all suspicion of being married to me. Can you ascertainly and effectually clear him in any other way? Answer methat, as a man of honor speaking to a woman who implicitly trustshim!"

She looked him full in the face. His eyes dropped before hers--hemade no reply.

"I am answered," she said.

With those words, she passed him, and laid her hand on the door.

He checked her. The tears rose in his eyes as he drew her gentlyback into the room.

"Why should we wait?" she asked.

"Wait," he answered, "as a favor to _me._"

She seated herself calmly in the nearest chair, and rested herhead on her hand, thinking.

He bent over her, and roused her, impatiently, almost angrily.The steady resolution in her face was terrible to him, when hethought of the man in the next room.

"Take time to consider," he pleaded. "Don't be led away by yourown impulse. Don't act under a false excitement. Nothing bindsyou to this dreadful sacrifice of yourself."

"Excitement! Sacrifice!" She smiled sadly as she repeated thewords. "Do you know, Sir Patrick, what I was thinking of a momentsince? Only of old times, when I was a little girl. I saw the sadside of life sooner than most children see it. My mother wascruelly deserted. The hard marriage laws of this country wereharder on her than on me. She died broken-hearted. But one friendcomforted her at the last moment, and promised to be a mother toher child. I can't remember one unhappy day in all the after-timewhen I lived with that faithful woman and her littledaughter--till the day that parted us. She went away with herhusband; and I and the little daughter were left behind. She saidher last words to me. Her heart was sinking under the dread ofcoming death. 'I promised your mother that you should be like myown child to me, and it quieted her mind. Quiet _my_ mind, Anne,before I go. Whatever happens in years to come--promise me to bealways what you are now, a sister to Blanche.' Where is the falseexcitement, Sir Patrick, in old remembrances like these? And howcan there be a sacrifice in any thing that I do for Blanche?"

She rose, and offered him her hand. Sir Patrick lifted it to hislips in silence.

"Come!" she said. "For both our sakes, let us not prolong this."

He turned aside his head. It was no moment to let her see thatshe had completely unmanned him. She waited for him, with herhand on the lock. He rallied his courage--he forced himself toface the horror of the situation calmly. She opened the door, andled the way back into the other room.

Not a word was spoken by any of the persons present, as the tworeturned to their places. The noise of a carriage passing in thestreet was painfully audible. The chance banging of a door in thelower regions of the house made every one start.

Anne's sweet voice broke the dreary silence.

"Must I speak for myself, Sir Patrick? Or will you (I ask it as alast and greatest favor) speak for me?"

"You insist on appealing to the letter in your hand?"

"I am resolved to appeal to it."

"Will nothing induce you to defer the close of this inquiry--sofar as you are concerned--for four-and-twenty hours?"

"Either you or I, Sir Patrick, must say what is to be said, anddo what is to be done, before we leave this room."

"Give me the letter."

She gave it to him. Mr. Moy whispered to his client, "Do you knowwhat that is?" Geoffrey shook his head. "Do you really remembernothing about it?" Geoffrey answered in one surly word,"Nothing!"

Sir Patrick addressed himself to the assembled company.

"I have to ask your pardon," he said, "for abruptly leaving theroom, and for obliging Miss Silvester to leave it with me. Everybody present, except that man" (he pointed to Geoffrey), "will, Ibelieve, understand and forgive me, now that I am forced to makemy conduct the subject of the plainest and the fullestexplanation. I shall address that explanation, for reasons whichwill presently appear, to my niece."

Blanche started. "To me!" she exclaimed.

"To you," Sir Patrick answered.

Blanche turned toward Arnold, daunted by a vague sense ofsomething serious to come. The letter that she had received fromher husband on her departure from Ham Farm had necessarilyalluded to relations between Geoffrey and Anne, of which Blanchehad been previously ignorant. Was any reference coming to thoserelations? Was there something yet to be disclosed which Arnold'sletter had not prepared her to hear?

Sir Patrick resumed.

"A short time since," he said to Blanche, "I proposed to you toreturn to your husband's protection--and to leave the terminationof this matter in my hands. You have refused to go back to himuntil you are first certainly assured that you are his wife.Thanks to a sacrifice to your interests and your happiness, onMiss Silvester's part--which I tell you frankly I have done myutmost to prevent--I am in a position to prove positively thatArnold Brinkworth was a single man when he married you from myhouse in Kent."

Mr. Moy's experience forewarned him of what was coming. Hepointed to the letter in Sir Patrick's hand.

"Do you claim on a promise of marriage?" he asked.

Sir Patrick rejoined by putting a question on his side.

"Do you remember the famous decision at Doctors' Commons, whichestablished the marriage of Captain Dalrymple and Miss Gordon?"

Mr. Moy was answered. "I understand you, Sir Patrick," he said.After a moment's pause, he addressed his next words to Anne. "Andfrom the bottom of my heart, madam, I respect _you._"

It was said with a fervent sincerity of tone which wrought theinterest of the other persons, who were still waiting forenlightenment, to the highest pitch. Lady Lundie and CaptainNewenden whispered to each other anxiously. Arnold turned pale.Blanche burst into tears.

Sir Patrick turned once more to his niece.

"Some little time since," he said, "I had occasion to speak toyou of the scandalous uncertainty of the marriage laws ofScotland. But for that uncertainty (entirely without parallel inany other civilized country in Europe), Arnold Brinkworth wouldnever have occupied the position in which he stands hereto-day--and these proceedings would never have taken place. Bearthat fact in mind. It is not only answerable for the mischiefthat has been already done, but for the far more serious evilwhich is still to come."

Mr. Moy took a note. Sir Patrick went on.

"Loose and reckless as the Scotch law is, there happens, however,to be one case in which the action of it has been confirmed andsettled by the English Courts. A written promise of marriageexchanged between a man and woman, in Scotland, marries that manand woman by Scotch law. An English Court of Justice (sitting injudgment on the ease I have just mentioned to Mr. Moy) haspronounced that law to be good--and the decision has since beenconfirmed by the supreme authority of the Hous e of Lords. Wherethe persons therefore--living in Scotland at the time--havepromised each other marriage in writing, there is now no longerany doubt they are certainly, and lawfully, Man and Wife." Heturned from his niece, and appealed to Mr. Moy." Am I right?"

"Quite right, Sir Patrick, as to the facts. I own, however, thatyour commentary on them surprises me. I have the highest opinionof our Scottish marriage law. A man who has betrayed a womanunder a promise of marriage is forced by that law (in theinterests of public morality) to acknowledge her as his wife."

"The persons here present, Mr. Moy, are now about to see themoral merit of the Scotch law of marriage (as approved byEngland) practically in operation before their own eyes. Theywill judge for themselves of the morality (Scotch or English)which first forces a deserted woman back on the villain who hasbetrayed her, and then virtuously leaves her to bear theconsequences."

With that answer, he turned to Anne, and showed her the letter,open in his hand.

"For the last time," he said, "do you insist on my appealing tothis?"

She rose, and bowed her head gravely.

"It is my distressing duty," said Sir Patrick, "to declare, inthis lady's name, and on the faith of written promises ofmarriage exchanged between the parties, then residing inScotland, that she claims to be now--and to have been on theafternoon of the fourteenth of August last--Mr. GeoffreyDelamayn's wedded wife."

A cry of horror from Blanche, a low murmur of dismay from therest, followed the utterance of those words.

There was a pause of an instant.

Then Geoffrey rose slowly to his feet, and fixed his eyes on thewife who had claimed him.

The spectators of the terrible scene turned with one accordtoward the sacrificed woman. The look which Geoffrey had cast onher--the words which Geoffrey had spoken to her--were present toall their minds. She stood, waiting by Sir Patrick's side--hersoft gray eyes resting sadly and tenderly on Blanche's face. Tosee that matchless courage and resignation was to doubt thereality of what had happened. They were forced to look back atthe man to possess their minds with the truth.

The triumph of law and morality over him was complete. He neveruttered a word. His furious temper was perfectly and fearfullycalm. With the promise of merciless vengeance written in theDevil s writing on his Devil-possessed face, he kept his eyesfixed on the hated woman whom he had ruined--on the hated womanwho was fastened to him as his wife.

His lawyer went over to the table at which Sir Patrick sat. SirPatrick handed him the sheet of note-paper.

He read the two letters contained in it with absorbed anddeliberate attention. The moments that passed before he liftedhis head from his reading seemed like hours. "Can you prove thehandwritings?" he asked. "And prove the residence?"

Sir Patrick took up a second morsel of paper lying ready underhis hand.

"There are the names of persons who can prove the writing, andprove the residence," he replied. "One of your two witnessesbelow stairs (otherwise useless) can speak to the hour at whichMr. Brinkworth arrived at the inn, and so can prove that the ladyfor whom he asked was, at that moment, Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn.The indorsement on the back of the note-paper, also referring tothe question of time, is in the handwriting of the samewitness--to whom I refer you, when it suits your convenience toquestion him."

"I will verify the references, Sir Patrick, as matter of form. Inthe mean time, not to interpose needless and vexatious delay, Iam bound to say that I can not resist the evidence of themarriage."

Having replied in those terms he addressed himself, with markedrespect and sympathy, to Anne.

"On the faith of the written promise of marriage exchangedbetween you in Scotland," he said, "you claim Mr. GeoffreyDelamayn as your husband?"

She steadily repented the words after him.

"I claim Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn as my husband."

Mr. Moy appealed to his client. Geoffrey broke silence at last.

"Is it settled?" he asked.

"To all practical purposes, it is settled."

He went on, still looking at nobody but Anne.

"Has the law of Scotland made her my wife?"

"The law of Scotland has made her your wife."

He asked a third and last question.

"Does the law tell her to go where her husband goes?"

"Yes."

He laughed softly to himself, and beckoned to her to cross theroom to the place at which he was standing.

She obeyed. At the moment when she took the first step toapproach him, Sir Patrick caught her hand, and whispered to her,"Rely on me!" She gently pressed his hand in token that sheunderstood him, and advanced to Geoffrey. At the same moment,Blanche rushed between them, and flung her arms around Anne'sneck.

"Oh, Anne! Anne!"

An hysterical passion of tears choked her utterance. Anne gentlyunwound the arms that clung round her--gently lifted the headthat lay helpless on her bosom.

"Happier days are coming, my love," she said. "Don't think of_me._"

She kissed her--looked at her--kissed her again--and placed herin her husband's arms. Arnold remembered her parting words atCraig Fernie, when they had wished each other good-night. "Youhave not befriended an ungrateful woman. The day may yet comewhen I shall prove it." Gratitude and admiration struggled in himwhich should utter itself first, and held him speechless.

She bent her head gently in token that she understood him. Thenshe went on, and stood before Geoffrey.

"I am here," she said to him. "What do you wish me to do?"

A hideous smile parted his heavy lips. He offered her his arm.

"Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn," he said. "Come home."

The picture of the lonely house, isolated amidst its high walls;the ill-omened figure of the dumb woman with the stony eyes andthe savage ways--the whole scene, as Anne had pictured it to himbut two days since, rose vivid as reality before Sir Patrick'smind. "No!" he cried out, carried away by the generous impulse ofthe moment. "It shall _not_ be!"

Geoffrey stood impenetrable--waiting with his offered arm. Paleand resolute, she lifted her noble head--called back the couragewhich had faltered for a moment--and took his arm. He led her tothe door. "Don't let Blanche fret about me," she said, simply, toArnold as they went by. They passed Sir Patrick next. Once morehis sympathy for her set every other consideration at defiance.He started up to bar the way to Geoffrey. Geoffrey paused, andlooked at Sir Patrick for the first time.

"The law tells her to go with her husband," he said. "The lawforbids you to part Man and Wife."

True. Absolutely, undeniably true. The law sanctioned thesacrifice of her as unanswerably as it had sanctioned thesacrifice of her mother before her. In the name of Morality, lethim take her! In the interests of Virtue, let her get out of itif she can!

Her husband opened the door. Mr. Moy laid his hand on SirPatrick's arm. Lady Lundie, Captain Newenden, the London lawyer,all left their places, influenced, for once, by the sameinterest; feeling, for once, the same suspense. Arnold followedthem, supporting his wife. For one memorable instant Anne lookedback at them all. Then she and her husband crossed the threshold.They descended the stairs together. The opening and closing ofthe house door was heard. They were gone.

Done, in the name of Morality. Done, in the interests of Virtue.Done, in an age of progress, and under the most perfectgovernment on the face of the earth.