“Change your wet clothes first,” she said.  “We can talk after that.”

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.

“What do you want?” 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.

“From ye ken who,” he explained, jocosely.  “A bit love-letter, I trow, from him that’s dear to ye.  Eh! he’s an awfu’ reprobate is him that’s dear to ye.  Miss, in the bedchamber there, will nae doot be the one he’s jilted for you? I see it all—­ye can’t blind Me—­I ha’ been a frail person my ain self, in my time.  Hech! he’s safe and sound, is the reprobate.  I ha’ lookit after a’ his little creature-comforts—­I’m joost a fether to him, as well as a fether to you.  Trust Bishopriggs—­when puir human nature wants a bit pat on the back, trust Bishopriggs.”

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: 

“I am in the smoking-room of the inn.  It rests with you to say whether I must stop there.  I don’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 wouldn’t be away from her another moment.  It does grate on me so!  At the same time, I don’t want to make your position harder than it is.  Think of yourself first.  I leave it in your hands.  You have only to say, Wait, by the bearer—­and I shall understand that I am to stay where I am till I hear from you again.”

Anne looked up from the message.

“Ask him to wait,” she said; “and I will send word to him again.”

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

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

“Is that you?” asked Blanche.

At the sound of her voice, Anne started back guiltily.  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she answered, and closed the door again between them.