"It's my fer-rm opeenion she's jist naebody--and waur," he had said
more than once to his own wife, nodding his head with great emphasis
at the last word. He was very anxious, therefore, to see "her
leddyship's" cousin. Mr. Gowran thought that he knew a gentleman
when he saw one. He thought, also, that he knew a lady, and that he
didn't see one when he was engaged with his mistress. Cousin, indeed!
"For the matter o' that, ony man that comes the way may be ca'ed a
coosin." So Mr. Gowran was on the grand sweep before the garden gate,
and took the pony from Frank's hand. "Is Lady Eustace at home?" Frank
asked. Mr. Gowran perceived that Frank was a gentleman, and was
disappointed. And Frank didn't come as a man comes who calls himself
by a false name, and pretends to be an honest cousin when in fact
he is something,--oh, ever so wicked! Mr. Gowran, who was a stern
moralist, was certainly disappointed at Frank's appearance.

Lizzie was in a little sitting-room, reached by a long passage with
steps in the middle, at some corner of the castle which seemed a long
way from the great door. It was a cheerful little room, with chintz
curtains, and a few shelves laden with brightly-bound books, which
had been prepared for Lizzie immediately on her marriage. It looked
out upon the sea, and she had almost taught herself to think that
here she had sat with her adored Florian, gazing in mutual ecstasy
upon the "wide expanse of glittering waves." She was lying back
in a low arm-chair as her cousin entered, and she did not rise to
receive him. Of course she was alone, Miss Macnulty having received
a suggestion that it would be well that she should do a little
gardening in the moat. "Well, Frank?" she said, with her sweetest
smile, as she gave him her hand. She felt and understood the extreme
intimacy which would be implied by her not rising to receive him. As
she could not rush into his arms there was no device by which she
could more clearly show to him how close she regarded his friendship.

"So I am at Portray Castle at last," he said, still holding her hand.

"Yes,--at the dullest, dreariest, deadliest spot in all Christendom,
I think,--if Ayrshire be Christendom. But never mind about that now.
Perhaps, as you are at the other side of the mountain at the Cottage,
we shall find it less dull here at the castle."

"I thought you were to be so happy here."

"Sit down and we'll talk it all over by degrees. What will you
have,--brea