Having time to spare, indeed, Marrion spent it, half-eagerly, half-reluctantly, in seeing how near she could bring herself to the daintinesses of modern fashion. And she so far succeeded that, as she went away from the looking-glass, her face showed radiant, as of a girl going to her first ball. Unconfessed, the thought was there that Marmaduke would see her so, possibly in the discarded brocades worn by his own mother in her youth; anyhow, in the garments of his own class. So, with the ample cloak round her, its hood drawn over the shining hair piled in the latest fashion, she made her way to the copse by the avenue gate. The chariot with two horses was in waiting; the driver, touching his hat, asked if there was no luggage. She answered no, stepped in, and they were off. Evidently the man had his orders, for they skirted the town and crossed the river by the lower and older bridge. This lengthened the journey by some two miles; so much the better. It would be quite dark by the time they arrived at the Cross-keys. Hitherto Marrion's mind had been fully occupied with action. Now, in this hour's drive, she had time to think of what would happen when she met Marmaduke, and her heart sank a little. Not that she was afraid of him or of herself, but it was all so strange, so unlike real life. Then in a flash came the memory of that dawn-tide swim of theirs! That was not common, trivial, everyday life either. They two had somehow the trick of escaping from that sometimes. Why not now? The day had been brilliantly fine and warm, but with the sun setting, clouds had gathered and lay dark and threatening on the horizon, though the moon rode unobscured high in the heavens. A few spots of heavy rain fell in great splashes, and the bustling landlady of the Cross-keys, as she came to the door, was full of congratulations that madam had escaped the thunderstorm which was evidently brewing. Meantime, Captain Muir, who had not expected his lady quite so soon, was away in the kennels to see if some medicine which he--kindly gentleman--had prescribed for a puppy ill of distemper had bettered the poor beastie; but he would be back syne and the rooms were ready. This was a relief to Marrion as it ensured that their meeting would be private; so she followed the landlady upstairs, the latter asking if Mrs. Muir would rather a cup of tea, or to go to bed at once, since she would have to be up so early to catch the first coach south. Marrion, as she refused both suggestions, felt startled at the Mrs. Muir. Was it possible that there was to be more than a mere intrigue? In Scotland one did not pose so easily as married--unless indeed Marmaduke was reckless--he was so, often----