never said a word about it,
I don't believe that she would, even if I went on visiting here for
years."

"Most likely not," said Sir Murray, dryly; "but you see that it is as I
say--you are too timid--too diffident."

"I say, though, you know," said his lordship, "was her mother that style
of woman--quiet and fond of weed-hunting--botany, you know?"

"You will oblige me greatly by not referring to the late Lady Gernon,"
said Sir Murray, stiffly.

"Oh, beg pardon, you know. No offence meant."

"It is granted," said Sir Murray; and then, in a different tone: "There
goes the dressing-bell."

The gentlemen strolled up in silence to the entrance, where the
major-domo--Mr Alexander McCray--who seemed to rule supreme at Merland,
now stood waiting the arrival of his master.

"I'm thinking, Sir Mooray," he said deferentially, "that ye'd like a
pony-carriage sent to meet my young lady."

"What--has she not returned?" said Sir Murray, anxiously.

"Nay, Sir Mooray, not yet awhile, and I should hae sent wi'oot saying a
word, but that I thocht my laird here would tell us which road she
gaed."

"Towards the waste--the snipe ground, you know," said his lordship, on
being appealed to.

"Send at once, McCray. No: go yourself," said Sir Murray.

"I'll go with him," said his lordship, who now seemed about wakening to
the fact that he had grossly neglected his intended; and five minutes
after the old Scot was driving briskly towards the village.

"Ye dinna ought to have left her, my laird," said McCray, sturdily.
"She's ower young to be left all alone."

"What? Were you speaking to me?" said his lordship, haughtily.

"Ay, that I was," said McCray. "Ye mauna mind me, my laird, for I'm
a'most like her foster-fairther, and nursed her on my knee mony's the
time."

His lordship did not condescend to answer, and the lanes were traversed
at a good rattling pace; but though McCray pulled up from time to time
to make inquiries, the only news he learned was that Miss Gernon had
been seen to go towards the marsh, but not to return; while one cottager
volunteered the information that young Squire Norton, the sailor, went
that way too in the morning time, and that neither of them had been seen
to come back.

This news had no effect upon Lord George Maudlaine, but a close observer
would have seen that the wrinkles upon Alexander McCray's brow grew a
little more deeply marked.

"He's a douce laddie," muttered McCray, as he drov