"Neither the tane nor the tither: she never said a word to me, but that they were gaun to the west country to see their friends. What for should they no? They are as free to do their ain pleasure as ither folk." Anne turned away, greatly disappointed and bewildered. "Be sure you sneck the gate," screamed the careful guardian of Schole, "and draw the stane close till't that ye pushed away wi' your fit." Anne obeyed, and proceeded homeward very much downcast and disappointed. She had expected so much from this interview, and had looked forward to it so anxiously. Why should they avoid her? For what reason should the nearest relatives of Norman's wife, flee from Norman's sister? She herself had hailed, with feelings so warmly and sadly affectionate, the idea of their existence and sympathy--perhaps of their co-operation and help. Now Christian's words returned to her mind in sad perplexity. She could find no clue to them. The house of Schole looked more dreary and dismal than ever. She felt a void as she looked back to it, and knew that the watcher, whose light had fallen upon the still waters of the Firth through all the lingering night, was there no longer. She left her watch at the window early, and, with a feeling of blank disappointment and loneliness, laid herself down to her disturbed and dreaming rest--very sad, and disconsolate, and unsettled--seeing no clear prospect before her, nor plan of operation. CHAPTER XXIV. The bright weeks of May stole on rapidly, and Anne had made no advance in her search. Little Alice Aytoun, when she came to visit her, clung round her neck anxiously, lifting up beseeching eyes to her face, but Anne had no word of hopeful answer to give. Her own heart was sinking day by day; the window of Patrick Lillie's study was still shut up and dark; the old servant whom they had left behind them could give no information as to their return. Anne was compelled to confess to herself that her plan had failed--that except for her dim and mysterious knowledge of these singular Lillies, she had not made a single step of progress. Then Lewis wrote letters, slightly querulous, requiring her presence at home--and Mrs. Catherine sent one characteristic note promising, "if ye will be a good bairn and come back, maybe to go with ye myself, when the weather is more suiting for the seaside." She was doing no good in Aberford; so with a heavy heart Anne returned home. The first day after her arrival at Merkland, she visited the Mill. With what strange feelings swelling in her heart did she draw the child to her side, and take into her own its small soft hand. The little strange exotic Lilie, the wonder of the quiet parish--was she indeed a Lilias Rutherford?--a daughter of the banished Norman?--her own nearest kin and relative?