They still lingered in the dining-room, Lally standing in the great oriel window and looking out upon the sea, which was being furiously beaten by the winds, when Mrs. Peters heard a carriage come up the drive and halt in the carriage porch. The good woman’s face turned pale. She glanced at her young mistress, but Lally heard no sound save the tumult of the winds and the waves. “It’s a wild night,” said the young girl. “I don’t see a sail in the Frith. The boats have all made for harbor.” At that moment a double knock was heard upon the front door, and Mrs. Peters heard the housekeeper going to the door. But Lally’s face was pressed against the cold glass, and she did not hear the summons for admittance. “The wind is rising,” the girl said, with a shudder. “I see a steamer coming in. She’ll make port just in time. I would not like to be on the sea to-night.” Mrs. Peters heard the front door open. With a nervous glance at her young mistress, she stole out into the hall. The front door was open, and a gust of wind was sweeping through the hall like a hurricane. Upon the threshold a man wearing a greatcoat and broad-brimmed artist’s hat, a man with a slender figure and eager face, was standing, talking with the house-maid. Mrs. Peters recognized the unwelcome guest as Rufus Black. “I want to see Mrs. Peters,” he was saying earnestly--“Miss Wroat’s companion. I have come up expressly from London to see her. I cannot go back to Inverness without seeing Mrs. Peters. She is my wife!” “Lawks, sir!” said the housemaid, with a wild idea that her visitor was a lunatic. The reader, who knows how naturally Rufus Black’s mistake had arisen, will not wonder at it. “I must see her,” persisted Rufus, his voice trembling. “Tell Mrs. Peters a gentleman wishes to see her--” At that moment Mrs. Peters, grim and terrible, resolving to protect her young mistress from one she deemed unworthy of her, marched out into the full glare of the hall lamp, and placing her arms akimbo, and assuming her most warlike aspect, exclaimed: “Well, sir! and what may you want of me, sir? _I_ am Mrs. Peters!” CHAPTER XVI. THE DESPAIR OF RUFUS AND LALLY. At the grim and warlike announcement of Mrs. Peters’ identity, delivered in Mrs. Peters’ grimmest and most warlike manner, Rufus Black recoiled involuntarily, his face expressing his utter amazement. He had felt confident that this angular and sour-visaged woman was Miss Wroat, and that his deserted young wife was in the woman’s employ, under the assumed name of Mrs. Peters. In his astonishment and disappointment, he stood pale and speechless. “You may go down, Mary,” said Mrs. Peters to the housemaid. “The gentleman came to see me, you hear.” The housemaid, being in awe of Mrs. Peters, precipitately retired to the servants’ hall. “And now, sir,” said Mrs. Peters, in such a voice as she might have employed in uttering a challenge, “what may you want with me?” Rufus Black struggled to regain his self-control.