"But I will meet ye half-way, Archie," she said, "Robert Ferguson, your good friend and honorable steward is laboring at this time redding up the tangled odds and ends of your affairs, and it is meet you should see him and render him right thanks for his good service. You ought to have gone to Woodsmuir first. I know not any mortal you are so much indebted to. Go your ways to the library and shut the door--I will send over for Mr. Ferguson. Na--you shall not stir over my door in a damp night till you have won back your strength again--and Mr. Foreman is here, Archie; would you like me to send him down? or are you able to stand it?" "Quite able," said Archibald, hastily. "Ask Mr. Foreman to come to me, Mrs. Catherine. With all your kindness, I yet cannot rest till I see something definite before me. I have lost too much time already, and Mr. Foreman is an old and kind friend. I do not deserve so many. Let him come to me, if, indeed, he will come--I need counsel sorely." Mrs. Catherine made a gesture of impatience. "And I am trysted with these young fools, and cannot win down beside you to put in my word. Mr. Foreman will come blythely, Archie--go your ways, and be careful of shutting the door, that you may not be disturbed. Andrew, let Johnnie Halflin ride to Woodsmuir without a moment's delay. If he tarries on the road, it will be at his peril; and give my compliments to Mr. Ferguson--or stay--Archie, write a word yourself." Established in the library, Archibald wrote a hasty note to Mr. Ferguson, and in a moment after heard Johnnie Halflin, with many arguments, persuading an unwilling pony to face the damp, chill blast, which swept so mournfully through the naked woods, and over the sighing Oran, and at last gallopping off on the road to Woodsmuir, the footsteps of his shaggy little steed sounding in unsteady leaps, as it struggled to turn its head from the wind, and regain its comfortable stable. Various groups in Mrs. Catherine's drawing room were whispering already reasons for her absence. "I am afraid, Mrs. Catherine is not well," said Mrs. Coulter, sympathetically. "Her face has had a look of trouble all the night." "Perhaps it is some unpleasant visitor," suggested Mr. Bairnsfather. "I thought she was agitated." "Mrs. Catherine agitated," cried Walter Foreman, "you might as soon shake the Tower." "Hold your peace, Sir," said his father. "These young men are constantly speaking of things they don't comprehend. Mrs. Catherine feels much more deeply than you will ever do." Walter looked up amazed. His father's eyes were uneasily fixed upon the door; his face anxious and full of care. "Ay," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, shaking her head pathetically, "it has been a great grief to her this downcome of young Strathoran. A fine life he led in Paris, by all accounts; he will surely never come home, to be a burden on Mrs. Catherine."