So it had come to this: often had he been face to face with popular wrath; often had he dared and flouted the whole of Scotland and now the crash had come. He glanced down at the people he rode through and his soul shook to think that he should have come to be at their mercy. His mansion was in complete darkness as he rode into the courtyard; it was with a sense of relief that he noticed the empty streets before it, the mob had not gathered yet. No servant came forward to take his horse; he left the tired animal and entered the house. One of the footmen stood in the hall, looking pale and frightened. “Are you the only one?” said Lord Stair. The man assented in a cowed manner. “Melville—has Melville gone?” “Yes, my lord—we heard there was a design to burn the house. Mr. Melville went and the others, my lord.” “I think the information was correct,” said Lord Stair quietly. “You had better follow. Only first there are the horses. My own is outside—take him and the others to the old stables at the end of the garden. I think they will be safe there. Let me know that it is done and you shall be rewarded.” “Yes, my lord.” Lord Stair was moving down the shadows of the hall when the man called after him: “There is a lady waiting for you in the drawing-room, my lord. She would not be denied.” “Waiting for me?” The Earl paused on the first stair and looked back through the darkness at the speaker. “Yes, my lord.” “Her name?” “My lord, she gave none.” Lord Stair was silent a moment. “Where is the Countess?” he asked. The man did not answer. “Where is she?” “My lord, my lord.” At the tone, the exclamation, the Earl gave a little start. “She is in the house,” he said sharply. Slowly, reluctantly, came the reply. “No, my lord.” And as the man spoke he saw the Earl put his hand out swiftly and catch hold of the banisters. “When did she go?” came through the shadows and Lord Stair’s voice shook a little. “Soon after Mr. Melville, my lord; when she heard they meant to burn the house, my lady put on her hat and had her mare saddled and rode away.” “Leaving no message?” “None, my lord.” A pause while the shadows seemed to thicken, blotting out all traces of light; then Lord Stair spoke, quietly: “That will do. Go and look to the horses.” The man obeyed, disappearing quickly, and Lord Stair ascended the gloomy stairs of his deserted house. Groping aimlessly through the darkness he pushed open the first door he came to and flung himself into a chair. So—his wife had gone—he had never expected it, like this, so brutally. He remembered Lord Wharton’s coach and the closed blinds and cursed himself for a fool that he had smiled—why had not some devil’s whisper prompted him to send a bullet through those deceitful windows and kill the two that rode within? And she had talked of her honorable house! It was part of her woman’s cunning—that he might leave her—safely trusting her cold dignity!