"I know that he is proscribed, and has a price set on his head," Kate said, quietly, looking after Wat with great indifference as he went down the avenue of trees. "And do you know why?" asked the duchess, somewhat abruptly. "No," answered Kate, wondering at her tone. "It was for wounding my late husband within the precincts of Holyrood," said Lady Wellwood. But Kate McGhie's anger was now fully roused, and her answer ran trippingly off her tongue. "And was it for that service you spoke so kindly to him just now, and bade him meet you at the head of the wood as you went home?" The duchess stared a little, but her well-bred calmness was not ruffled. "Even so," she said, placidly, "and for the further reason that Walter Gordon was on his way to see _me_ on the night when it was his ill fortune to meet with my husband instead." "I do not believe it," cried the girl, lifting her head and looking Lady Wellwood straight in the eyes. "Ask him, then!" answered the duchess, with the calm assurance of forty answering the chit of half her years. For at first sight my lady had envied and hated the clear, blushful ivory of the girl's cheek and the natural luxuriance of her close-tangled curls. And since all the art of St. James's could not match with these, she was now getting even with Kate in ways of her own. The girl did not speak. Her heart only welled within her with contradiction and indignation. "Or if you will not do that, sit down half an hour hence and read your book in the little arbor by the end of the avenue, and you will hear news. Whether you may like it or not is another question. But, at all events, you shall not have cause to say again that a Duchess of Wellwood lied." Kate rose and walked away without answering a word. She cared no jot for Wat Gordon, so she told herself. He was nothing to her, save that she desired his safety and had risked much to give him shelter. Yet this Duchess of Wellwood--that woman of whom the gross popular tongue whispered commonly the most terrible things! Had Lochinvar made love to her? Was he to meet her at the end of the avenue? She could not believe it. It was, indeed, no matter if he did. What did she care? Go to the arbor, become an eavesdropper--not for any man alive, least of all for Wat Gordon! Thank God, she had a tongue in her head, and was not afraid to ask Wat Gordon, or any living soul, whatever she desired to know. But after a little hesitation she went up-stairs to her chamber, and, denying herself the listening of the ear, she listened with her eyes instead. For she watched my Lady Wellwood being helped into her saddle right courteously by her father. She saw her looking down at him the while with a glance professionally tender--a glance that lingered in the memory by reason of the quiver of an eyelid and the pressure of a soft, reluctant hand. And Roger McGhie bowed over her plump fingers as though he had been bidding farewell to some angelic visitant.