“I think you should go home by railway to-morrow,” he said.  “It is blowing fresh now, and the trains will all be running to-morrow.  I am sorry I have to go by the first in the morning, so I shall probably not see you then,”

“I don’t know,” she said:  “it is a question if Alice will be able to travel at all to-morrow.”

“She is not ill, is she?” he said.  “It is only a little fatigue from exposure that ails her, isn’t it?”

“But it may have bad consequences,” said Lady Arthur:  “one never can tell;” and she spoke in an injured way, for George’s tones were not encouraging.  “And John, my coachman—­I haven’t seen him—­he ought to have been at hand at least:  if I could depend on any one, I thought it was him.”

“Why, he was overcome in the drift to-day:  your other man had to leave him behind and ride forward for help.  It was digging him out of the snow that kept us so long in getting to you.  He has been in bed ever since, but he is getting round quite well.”

“I ought to have known that sooner,” she said.

“I did not want to alarm you unnecessarily.”

“I must go and see him;” and she held out her hand to say good-night.  “But you’ll come to Garscube Hall soon:  I shall be anxious to hear what you think of Frank.  When will you come?”

“I’ll write,” he said.

Lady Arthur felt that opportunity was slipping from her, and she grew desperate.  “Speaking of writing,” she said, “I wrote to you when I had the fever last year and thought I was dying:  would you like to see that letter?”

“No,” he said:  “I prefer you living.”

“Have you no curiosity?  People can say things dying that they couldn’t say living, perhaps.”

“Well, they have no business to do so,” he said.  “It is taking an unfair advantage, which a generous nature never does; besides, it is more solemn to live than die.”

“Then you don’t want the letter?”

“Oh yes, if you like.”

“Very well:  I’ll think of it.  Can you show me the way to John’s place of refuge?”

They found John sitting up in bed, and Mrs, Ormiston ministering to him:  the remains of a fowl were on a plate beside him, and he was lifting a glass of something comfortable to his lips.

“I never knew of this, John,” said his mistress, “till just a few minutes ago.  This is sad.”

“Weel, it doesna look very sad,” said John, eying the plate and the glass.  “Yer leddyship and me hae gang mony a daftlike road, but I think we fairly catched it the day.”

“I don’t know how we can be grateful enough to you, Mrs. Ormiston,” said Lady Arthur, turning to their hostess.

“Well, you know we could hardly be so churlish as to shut our doors on storm-stayed travelers:  we are very glad that we had it in our power to help them a little.”

“It’s by ordinar’ gude quarters,” said John:  “I’ve railly enjoyed that hen.  Is ’t no time yer leddyship was in yer bed, after siccan a day’s wark?”