Strangely enough, Mrs. Murray, after an interval, followed him out to the door. She grasped him by the arm in her excitement. “I thought once I was indebted to you,” she said. “I thought I should be thankful that you brought my bairn in, carrying her in your arms; but I know now whose blame it was she got her accident. I know now what you would have put into her head if it had not been for her innocence. And it is for you I must ruin my bonnie lad, and cover my name with shame. Oh, the Lord sees if it’s hard or no! But mind you this, man, you will never be his equal if you were to labour night and day--never his equal--nor nigh him. And never think that those that have loved him will stoop down to the like of you.” She thrust him away, as she spoke, with a scorn that made Arthur wild. What! he the true proprietor of Arden to be dismissed so? He turned to gaze at her as she disappeared, shutting the door upon him. An impulse seized him to throw a stone at the window--to do something which should show his contempt and rage; but he did not do it. He thought better of it. He could afford to be magnanimous. He left the place where Jeanie’s young life had been put in such jeopardy by his fault, and where he had just concluded that it had been for the best, without seeking for any further news of Jeanie. She might die or live for anything he cared. Her brother was with her, or her cousin, or whatever he was--the fellow who had kept him so long out of Arden. Thus he turned away through the dark village, up the dark avenue, and went home to Arden, where the lights were still burning in all the windows, and the master expected home. It was on his lips to say--“I am master now; when that fellow comes, do not let him in;” but in that point too he restrained himself. Fazakerly was in the house, and Clare was in the house. He did not wish to come into collision with either of them. For Edgar, he did not care.