“Wait a little!” cried a voice at the veranda. “Don’t forget that I have come back from Baden to help you!” Sir Patrick and Arnold both looked up. This time Blanche had heard the last words that had passed between them. She sat down at the table by Sir Patrick’s side, and laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder. “You are quite right, uncle,” she said. “I _am_ suffering this morning from the malady of having nothing to do. Are you going to write to Anne? Don’t. Let me write instead.” Sir Patrick declined to resign the pen. “The person who knows Miss Silvester’s address,” he said, “is a lawyer in Glasgow. I am going to write to the lawyer. When he sends us word where she is--then, Blanche, will be the time to employ your good offices in winning back your friend.” He drew the writing materials once more with in his reach, and, suspending the remainder of Arnold’s examination for the present, began his letter to Mr. Crum. Blanche pleaded hard for an occupation of some sort. “Can nobody give me something to do?” she asked. “Glasgow is such a long way off, and waiting is such weary work. Don’t sit there staring at me, Arnold! Can’t you suggest something?” Arnold, for once, displayed an unexpected readiness of resource. “If you want to write,” he said, “you owe Lady Lundie a letter. It’s three days since you heard from her--and you haven’t answered her yet.” Sir Patrick paused, and looked up quickly from his writing-desk. “Lady Lundie?” he muttered, inquiringly. “Yes,” said Blanche. “It’s quite true; I owe her a letter. And of course I ought to tell her we have come back to England. She will be finely provoked when she hears why!” The prospect of provoking Lady Lundie seemed to rouse Blanche s dormant energies. She took a sheet of her uncle’s note-paper, and began writing her answer then and there. Sir Patrick completed his communication to the lawyer--after a look at Blanche, which expressed any thing rather than approval of her present employment. Having placed his completed note in the postbag, he silently signed to Arnold to follow him into the garden. They went out together, leaving Blanche absorbed over her letter to her step-mother. “Is my wife doing any thing wrong?” asked Arnold, who had noticed the look which Sir Patrick had cast on Blanche. “Your wife is making mischief as fast as her fingers can spread it.” Arnold stared. “She must answer Lady Lundie’s letter,” he said. “Unquestionably.” “And she must tell Lady Lundie we have come back.” “I don’t deny it.” “Then what is the objection to her writing?” Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuff--and pointed with his ivory cane to the bees humming busily about the flower-beds in the sunshine of the autumn morning.