"Let us say farewell now and for ever," she said, stretching out her hands, and then as he wrung them in his she breathed "God bless you," and so passed out of his sight. Sir Albert lost no time; he knew it was best, and he made all his arrangements, and left by the first train he could catch. His one comfort now would be doing something for her through her sister. But when the bustle of the departure was over and he was ensconced in his railway-carriage he had time to think of his own most cruel and terrible trial. Ever since he had begun to know Margaret his love for her increased. He had wandered to regain health and strength. Her image was never out of his mind, and he had believed he had made things so clear to her that she was somewhere waiting and expecting him. He had seen Mr. Drayton; he was just the sort of man to behave as he had done, and it was quite terrible to think of that fair and innocent girl in his power. He never rested till he got to Scotland. He went straight to Torbreck, where he interviewed the landlady. Miss Rivers had gone. She had gone to London to stay with her sister. Sir Albert did not choose to say that her sister was not there, but he made many minute inquiries about her health, and left Mrs. Munro much impressed by his manner, and the thoughtful remarks he made. "He is a real bonny man," she said afterwards, "and, my certie, he kens how to put questions. He was as particular as he could be. Miss Rivers this and Miss Rivers that. She's a straight nose has Miss Rivers. I'm no denying it, but she does not follow it. Miss Margaret's a deal friendlier; weel-a-weel, its a' ordered for the best." Mrs. Dorriman was much taken aback when once more Sir Albert was shown into the drawing-room at Renton. She was too timid not to be alarmed by the arrival of a man who had made no secret of his admiration for Margaret. Did he know anything, and what did he know? Her expression was so distinctly interrogatory that he answered it, and advancing towards her, and not waiting for the usual conventional greeting, he said, "I know all, Mrs. Dorriman; I have seen her--I have seen Margaret!" "Ah!" said the poor little woman, with a deep sigh of relief. "It has been cruel work," he said, passionately. "Why could you not have saved her?" "I never knew till too late. How could I save her?" She spoke startled, and for a moment thinking that he was right. Then she remembered--"That unfortunate sister of hers, Grace, would not allow her to send for us. I did not know where she was. And when you left me, you gave me no address; even if I had had it I am not sure I should have written to you. It was then too late. Nothing could have been done.... How is Margaret?" she asked, after a moment's pause. He did not answer her at once. Then he said in a broken voice, "I never saw any one so changed; she is only a shadow of her former self." "God help her!" murmured Mrs. Dorriman.