en it happened that it was out of
her power.

Book 1, Chapter XXXIV.

NOT AT HOME.

"Did you see the laird?" said McCray, coming slowly forth from behind
some bushes, after Jane had been standing some few minutes in the lane
where she had left him to wait.

"The laird!" said Jane, starting. "Why, who do you mean?"

"Mean? Why, Sir Mooray himself. I saw him turn round to have a good
look at ye, as ye came across the home close from the Hall. And ye
didna see him?"

"No--no--no!" sobbed Jane. "Oh dear--oh dear! I'm undone!"

"Nay--nay, _ye're_ not, lassie; for I'll a'ways stand by ye. Dinna
greet aboot that. Ye didna tell me why ye came, but I know it's for
some good, and that ye'll tell me all in good time."

"That I will, indeed!" sobbed Jane; "but don't ask me now!"

"Nay, then, I'm not speering to know," said Sandy, contentedly. "He was
riding the grey horse, ye ken, and he seemed to catch sight o' ye all at
aince; when, thinking it wasna warth while for twa to be in trouble, I
hid myself in the bushes till he'd gone by."

The next day, one anxiously looked forward to by more than one of the
characters in this story, came in due course; and, towards evening, Lady
Gernon slowly passed through the hall door, basket in hand, and making
her way across the lawn, disappeared from the sight of Sandy McCray
behind some bushes at the edge of the park.

The hours sped on, and Ada Norton drove up in one of Chunt's flys from
the village public-house, after waiting some time at the Rectory, in a
vain endeavour to see Mr Elstree, who was from home. She had, after
many hours' thought, but a vague idea of the best plan to pursue, and
even now questioned the wisdom of her course. In fact, more than once
the check-string had been in her hand to arrest the driver, and order
him to return to the Hall; but, from sheer shame at her vacillation, she
let it fall again, and gazed slowly out from the fly-window at the
glorious sweep of the noble domain through which she was being driven,
and sighed again and again as she thought of the misery of its owners.
She half shrank from meeting Lady Gernon, for she felt that, in spite of
all her assurances to the contrary, her cousin must feel something of
repugnance to the woman who had, as it were, taken her place. Not that
she had robbed Lady Gernon of her happiness; she had been ready to
resign all hope, and had given up, stifling her own feelings, when duty
told her that