“Yes, the English lad--I never thought of it till this moment; but he has a way of turning up when he’s wanted that is very extraordinary--very extraordinary! To see him appear, like a ghost, at that cottage door--and not one of us surprised within. To be sure,” Mr. Charles added with sudden gravity, “all our thoughts were turned another way.” “But my thoughts are not turned any other way,” said Miss Jean. “I don’t know what folly you’re thinking of, her and you; but Marjory is my first thought. All this about your cottage doors, and your thoughts turned other ways, is not intelligible to me. I would like to know what you mean, Charlie. Who is this lad, and what has he to do with Marjory? You’ve left him to bring her home--in the middle of the night.” “No--no,” said Mr. Charles, deprecating, “not so bad as that--not the middle of the night. And how could I help it? It was no place for me--a man that could be of little use. I came away by his advice. It’s a long walk, and I’ve eaten nothing. And, perhaps,” he said, pausing with his hand on the bell, “I should bid them get a room ready for Fanshawe--he must stop somewhere. So far as I know, the beds at The Royal may all be taken. I suppose I must give him a bed in this house.” “You know best who to take in, and who to leave out,” said Miss Jean. “I never interfere with the arrangements of the house. Perhaps you would like me to go to The Royal? For otherwise, I have my boxes in the spare room.” “Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Charles, waving his hand; and he gave his orders with a degree of explanatoriness to which Miss Jean listened with grim impatience. “There’s a gentleman, Mr. Fanshawe, that may be coming in late--with Miss Heriot; not that he’s with Miss Heriot now, or more than just in the neighbourhood. But she may be kept late, and at my request he will bring her home--you understand?” “Oh ay, Sir, I understand!” said the maid cheerfully; “the English gentleman; he was here the day already, waiting long, and very anxious about Miss Heriot. He went off after you to the Spindle, when he heard ye had gone that gait; he was just off a journey; but he would take no refreshment, no so much as a glass of wine;” but aye, “where was Miss Heriot? where was Miss Heriot? that was all that was in his head.” “It was me he wanted, in reality,” said Mr. Charles, looking anxiously towards Miss Jean; “on business. We have a great many business transactions, him and me; and put some cold meat or something in the dining-room. If Mr. Fanshawe is kept very late--as he may be, waiting at my request for Miss Heriot (for he is a young man, Aunt Jean, and I am an old one--he was more able to wait than me); he will have to sleep here.” “And will Miss Heriot be late, Sir?” said the maid. “She’s waiting upon a poor young woman that’s dying,” said Mr. Charles, with solemnity. “You’re amused, Aunt Jean? I’m sorry that I cannot join you, after the scene I’ve been going through--nor see the cause.”