ey might be expected to arrive at the inn, assuming
Geoffrey to have left Windygates at the time agreed on. A little more
patience, and the landlady's scruples would be satisfied, and the ordeal
would be at an end.

Could she have met him nowhere else than at this barbarous house, and
among these barbarous people?

No. Outside the doors of Windygates she had not a friend to help her in
all Scotland. There was no place at her disposal but the inn; and she
had only to be thankful that it occupied a sequestered situation, and
was not likely to be visited by any of Lady Lundie's friends. Whatever
the risk might be, the end in view justified her in confronting it. Her
whole future depended on Geoffrey's making an honest woman of her. Not
her future with _him_--that way there was no hope; that way her life was
wasted. Her future with Blanche--she looked forward to nothing now but
her future with Blanche.

Her spirits sank lower and lower. The tears rose again. It would only
irritate him if he came and found her crying. She tried to divert her
mind by looking about the room.

There was very little to see. Except that it was solidly built of good
sound stone, the Craig Fernie hotel differed in no other important
respect from the average of second-rate English inns. There was the
usual slippery black sofa--constructed to let you slide when you wanted
to rest. There was the usual highly-varnished arm-chair, expressly
manufactured to test the endurance of the human spine. There was the
usual paper on the walls, of the pattern designed to make your eyes ache
and your head giddy. There were the usual engravings, which humanity
never tires of contemplating. The Royal Portrait, in the first place of
honor. The next greatest of all human beings--the Duke of Wellington--in
the second place of honor. The third greatest of all human beings--the
local member of parliament--in the third place of honor; and a hunting
scene, in the dark. A door opposite the door of admission from the
passage opened into the bedroom; and a window at the side looked out on
the open space in front of the hotel, and commanded a view of the vast
expanse of the Craig Fernie moor, stretching away below the rising
ground on which the house was built.

Anne turned in despair from the view in the room to the view from the
window. Within the last half hour it had changed for the worse. The
clouds had gathered; the sun was hidden; the light on the landscape was
gra