“In some things one would sooner confide in a man than a woman, Sir Justin.”

“That is undoubtedly true,” he agreed cordially.  “You may confide in me, Baroness.”

“I have heard from my husband again.  I need not show you the letter; it is quite satisfactory—­oh, quite, I assure you!  Only I found this enclosed with it.”

In breathless silence she watched him examine critically first the heather and then the verses.

“Lord Tulliwuddle!” he exclaimed.  “Is there anything in the Baron’s letter to throw any light upon this?”

“Not one word—­not the slightest hint.”

Again he studied the paper.

“Oh, what does it mean?” she cried.  “I came to you because you know all about the Tulliwuddles.  Where is Lord Tulliwuddle now?”

“I am not acquainted with the present peer,” he ansevered meditatively.  “In fact, I know singularly little about him.  I did hear—­yes, I heard from my daughter some rumor that he was shortly expected to visit his place in Scotland; but whether he went there or not I cannot say.”

“You can find out for me?”

“I shall lose no time in ascertaining.”

The Baroness thanked him effusively, and rose to depart with a mind a little comforted.

“And you won’t tell mamma?”

“I never tell a woman anything that is of any importance.”

The Baroness was confirmed in her opinion that Sir Justin was not a very nice man, but she felt an increased confidence in his judgment.

CHAPTER XX

From the gargoyled keep which the cultured enthusiasm of Eleanor and the purse of her father had recently erected at Lincoln Lodge, the brother and sister looked over a bend of the river, half a mile of valley road, a wave of forest country, and the greater billows of the bare hillsides towering beyond.  But out of all this prospect it was only upon the stretch of road that their eyes were bent.

“Surely one should see their carriage soon!” exclaimed Eleanor.

“Seems to me,” said her brother, “that you’re sitting something like a cat on the pounce for this Tulliwuddle fellow.  Why, Eleanor, I never saw you so excited since the first duke came along.  I thought that had passed right off.”

“Oh, Ri, I was reading ‘Waverley’ again last night, and somehow I felt the top of the keep was the only place to watch for a chief!”

“Why, you don’t expect him to be different from other people?”

“Ri!  I tell you I’ll cry if he looks like any one I’ve ever seen before!  Don’t you remember the Count said he moved like a pine in his native forests?”

“He won’t make much headway like that,” said Ri incisively.  “I’d sooner he moved like something more spry than a tree.  I guess that Count was talking through his hat.”

But his sister was not to be argued out of her exalted mood by such prosaic reasoning.  She exclaimed at his sluggish imagination, reiterated her faith in the insinuating count’s assurances, and was only withheld from sending her brother down for a spy-glass by the reflection that she could not remember reading of its employment by any maiden in analogous circumstances.