The night wore on, and nothing was seen or heard of Quentin. Indeed, save the Master, as yet no one missed him: but as he did not appear when the supper-bell clanged in the belfry of the old keep, Cosmo, with several unpleasant misgivings in his mind, hastened unseen into the avenue, down the long vista of which the waning moon shed a broad and pallid flood of radiance, ere, in clouds that betokened a rough night, it sunk beyond the wooded heights of Ardgour. Cosmo went to the place where so savagely he had struck the poor lad down; but Quentin was gone; the grass where he had lain was bruised, and on the gravel was a pool of blood about a foot in diameter--blood that must have flowed from the wound in his head; but other trace of him there was none! CHAPTER XVI. EXPOSTULATION. "Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood, And shalt become thy own sufficient stay! Too late I feel, sweet orphan! was the day For steadfast hope the contrast to fulfil; Yet still my blessing hover o'er thee still." WORDSWORTH. Lady Rohallion had so frequently spoken to Flora Warrender on the subject of the proposed or expected marriage with Cosmo, that she had little diffidence generally in approaching the subject; but now there was a new and unexpected feature in the matter--a lover, a rival--thus she felt aware that the adoption of some tact became requisite. What the good lady could hope to achieve, where her enterprising son had failed in person, it is difficult to imagine; nevertheless, she resolved to remonstrate with Flora. "She is too young to judge for herself, and must therefore let others judge for her," said she, half aloud. "You wished to see me, madam," said Flora, entering with an air of annoyance, only half concealed by a smile, as she correctly feared this formal summons had reference to the recent scene in the garden. Seating Flora beside her on a sofa, she took her by the hand, and while considering what to say, played caressingly with her dark wavy hair, and said something in praise of her beauty, so the girl's heart foreboded what was coming next. "You are rich, dear Flora," said Lady Rohallion, insinuatingly, "but most, perhaps, in beauty." "I am often told so, especially by you," replied Flora, laughing. "An heiress, too." "But what of it, madam?" she asked, gravely. "You know, dear Flora, that money is the key to a thousand pleasures--it is alike the object of the avaricious, and the ambition of the poor." "True, Lady Rohallion," replied Flora, smiling again; "but, as we say in Scotland, a tocherless lass, though she may have a long pedigree, may have a pleasure that no heiress can ever enjoy." "Indeed?" "Yes; the most flattering and glorious conviction!" "Pray tell me?" "She can prove to her heart's content that she is loved for herself, and herself alone. Poverty makes all equal----"