Anne was uneasy and perplexed: this sensible, generous, thoughtful James Aytoun, suspected her secret, and claimed to be trusted with it. Could she withhold it from him? And then, this fallen edifice of hope, with all the sickness of its indefinite deferring--what could be done, indeed? It seemed foolish--it seemed mere madness, the burning desire that rose within her, to hurry to the place herself, and see if the eager eyes of anxiety and sisterly yearning could discover nothing. Alas! were not James Aytoun's eyes eager also? was not his mind trained and practised? It did not matter--Anne felt it impossible to stand still--to wait--until she had convinced herself that there was nothing more to learn. Esther Fleming's eager repetition: "I lookit to you, Miss Anne, I aye lookit to you," came back upon her, like a call from her father's very grave. She wrote hastily to Lewis, begging him to return immediately; and then sat down to consider her plan.--It might be foolish--it might be Quixotic. Possibly she could do no good--but she must try. CHAPTER XVIII. Upon the Friday Lewis returned home. Anne had walked out upon the Portoran road, looking for him, and met him a short distance from the gate of Merkland. He looked sulky and out of humor, and leaping from the gig, threw the reins to Duncan, and joined his sister. "Well?" said Anne, when their first greeting was over, and Duncan out of hearing. "Well," said Lewis, "we are just where we were. I expected nothing better. We have not advanced a step." "I understand that," said Anne; "but what of the Aytoun's?--what understanding have you come to?--what arrangement about Alice?" "Nothing--nothing," said Lewis, hastily; "I tell you we are exactly where we were. My position is not in the least degree better than it was on the first day I knew this history--it is worse indeed, for you buoyed me up with hopes then of the great things we should discover--see what it has all come to." "You have surely made some arrangement--come to some understanding?" said Anne; "it is a quite useless thing to tantalize me, Lewis. Your engagement has not terminated--you have not given up--" "'Given up!" Lewis turned round indignantly. "I suppose you would like nothing better, my mother and you; but you're mistaken, I tell you. All the mothers and sisters in the kingdom should not make me give up Alice--a pretty thing!" "You are quite unreasonable, Lewis," said Anne; "I do not want you to give up Alice--very far from that--I think you have been fortunate in winning so fresh and guileless a youthful spirit; but this impatience and petulance makes you unworthy of Alice Aytoun. At your years men should regard their own dignity more--you are not a boy now, Lewis." "I should think not," was the angry response. It made him quiet nevertheless; these fits of ill-humor and peevishness were certainly neither dignified nor manly. "What have you done then? how have you arranged?" said Anne.