"But if ye please, Miss Falconer," said Jacky, seriously, "an old woman wouldna do--an old woman wouldna be so faithful and--and--" Jacky paused, her conscience smiting her: was not the Squire of the redoubtable Britomart an old woman? Whereupon there ensued in Jacky's mind a metaphysical discussion as to whether Glauce or Mrs. Elspat Henderson was the best type of the class of ancient serving-women--remaining undecided upon which point, she had nothing for it but to repeat the prayer of her petition: "Oh, Miss Anne, will you let me go?" "Do you intend to take a maid with you, Anne?" asked Marjory. "Yes." "Then you should take Jacky by all means." Anne hesitated. "You forget, Jacky, that it is not I, but Mrs. Catherine, who must decide this." "Oh, if ye please, Mrs. Catherine will let me go, Miss Anne, if you're wanting me." "And your mother, Jacky?" "My mother's no needing me, Miss Anne." "Well, we will see about it," said Anne, smiling; "as you seem to have quite made up your mind, and decided on the matter. I will speak to Mrs. Catherine, Jacky. We shall see." Jacky made an uncouth courtesy and vanished. "Is it Edinburgh you are going to, Anne?" said Marjory, shooting a keen glance upon her friend's face. "I shall be in Edinburgh," said Anne, evasively. "Why, Anne!" exclaimed Marjory, "must one not even know where you are going? What is this secret journey of yours?" "It is no secret journey, Marjory. I am going farther east than Edinburgh--to the sea-side." "To the sea-side!" Marjory looked amazed. "You are not delicate, Anne Ross. What are you going to do at the sea-side?" "Nothing," said Anne. "Nothing! You have not any friends there--you are going away quite by yourself! Is anything the matter, Anne? Tell me what you are going to do." "I would tell you very gladly, Marjory, if I could. My errand is quite a private one: when it is accomplished, you shall hear it all." The blood rushed in torrents to Marjory Falconer's face. "You cannot trust me!" she exclaimed. "Anne, I do not care for Mrs. Bairnsfather's petty insults. I have been too careless of forms, perhaps--perhaps I have made people think me rude and wild, when I was only striving to reach a better atmosphere than they had placed me in--but you, Anne Ross--you to think me unworthy of confidence!" "Hush--hush, Marjory," said Anne. "Pray do not begin to be suspicious--it does not become you at all. I had a brother once, Marjory--as people say, a most generous, kind, good brother--whose name lies under the blot of a great crime. He was innocent--but the world believed him guilty. I am going to try--by what quiet and humble means are in my power--to remove this undeserved stain. If I succeed, I shall have a very moving story to tell you: if I do not succeed, let us never speak of it again. In any case, I know you will keep my secret."