“There is some mistake,” he gasped. “I--I remember you. I saw you in the Regent street picture-shop the other day, with--with a young lady. I thought she called herself Mrs. Peters. I am come to see her.” “Come in,” said Mrs. Peters, who was in inward terror of Lally’s appearance upon the scene, and who had made up her mind to prevent an interview between the young pair at all costs. “Come in, sir, and I’ll hear what you have to say.” She conducted him to the library, which was across the hall from the drawing-rooms. It was lighted by a pendant chandelier, in which were a dozen wax candles which burned with mellow light. A great circular bay-window took up one side of the apartment, the opposite side containing a great fire-place, in which logs were burning. The angles on either side the chimney were fitted with tall book-cases, and one end of the room was also lined with rows of shelves well filled with books, and protected by plate-glass doors. At the opposite end of the room was a glazed garden door, opening upon the grassy terrace. This room already bid fair to become a favorite resort of Lally. She had ordered it to be warmed and lighted at the same time with the drawing-room, and was likely to visit it during the evening. Mrs. Peters locked the door, therefore, as she motioned Rufus to a seat. He declined the civility, however, and remained standing, his hat in his hand. “I remember you very well now,” said Mrs. Peters, pretending to search her memory, “now that you have mentioned the picture-shop. You are the young gentleman who annoyed the young lady with me? Yes, I remember you. What are you doing here? Why have you followed us to Scotland? Why have you come to Heather Hills?” “I am come, madam,” cried Rufus, white and agitated, “to see the young lady who was in your company at Benson’s the other day. It is imperative that I should see her.” “I think not,” said Mrs. Peters gravely. “In the first place, how can you be sure that the young lady is in this house?” “I have traced her and you all the way from London,” cried Rufus. “I saw the card you gave to Benson, with the name upon it of ‘Miss Wroat, Mount street,’ with the number. I went to Mount street twice, and the second time discovered that you had left town. I hurried to the station of the great Northern, and found that the express had gone. And then--” “And then?”