she found Duncan, her
maid, awaiting her.

"Oh! I've been waiting to see you this half hour, miss," she said. "I
couldn't get you alone. Just before eight o'clock, as I was about to
enter the park by the side gate near Bervie Farm, a gentleman approached
me and asked if my name was Duncan. I told him it was, and then he gave
me this to give to you in secret. He also gave me a pound note, miss,
to say nothing about it." And the prim lady's maid handed her young
mistress a small white envelope upon which her name was written.

Opening it, she found a plain visiting card which bore the words in a
man's handwriting:

"Would it be possible for you to meet me to-night at ten at the spot
where I have given this to your maid? Urgent.--SILVERADO."

Dorise held her breath. It was a message from the mysterious white
cavalier who had sought her out at the _bal blanc_ at Nice, and told her
of Hugh's peril!

Duncan was naturally curious owing to the effect the card had had upon
her mistress, but she was too well trained to make any comment. Instead,
she busied herself at the wardrobe, and a few moments afterwards left
the room.

Dorise stood before the long cheval glass, the card still in her hand.

What did it mean? Why was the mysterious white cavalier in Scotland? At
least she would now be able to see his face. It was past nine, and the
moon was already shining. She had still more than half an hour before
she went forth to meet the man of mystery.

She descended to the drawing-room, where her mother was reading, and
after playing over a couple of songs as a camouflage, she pretended to
be tired and announced her intention of retiring.

"We have to go into Edinburgh to-morrow morning," her mother remarked.
"So we should start pretty early. I've ordered the car for nine
o'clock."

"All right, mother. Good-night," said the girl as she closed the door.

Then hastening to her room she threw off her dinner gown, and putting
on a coat and skirt and the boots which she had worn when fishing that
morning, she went out by a door which led from the great old library,
with its thousands of brown-backed volumes, on to the broad terrace
which overlooked the glen, now a veritable fairyland beneath the light
of the moon.

Outside the silence was only broken by the ripple of the burn over its
pebbles deep below, and the cry of the night-bird upon the steep rock
whereon the historic old castle was built. By a path known to her s