And if the god were envious, he must have seen with mortification how little he could do to mar the happiness of mortals. I stood in a mere waterspout; she herself was wet, not from my embrace only, but from the splashing of the storm. The candles had guttered out; we were in darkness. I could scarce see anything but the shining of her eyes in the dark room. To her I must have appeared as a silhouette, haloed by rain and the spouting of the ancient Gothic gutter above my head. Presently we became more calm and confidential; and when that squall, which proved to be the last of the storm, had blown by, fell into a talk of ways and means. It seems she knew Mr. Robbie, to whom I had been so slenderly accredited by Romaine--was even invited to his house for the evening of Monday, and gave me a sketch of the old gentleman's character, which implied a great deal of penetration in herself, and proved of great use to me in the immediate sequel. It seemed he was an enthusiastic antiquary, and in particular a fanatic of heraldry. I heard it with delight, for I was myself, thanks to M. de Culemberg, fairly grounded in that science, and acquainted with the blazons of most families of note in Europe. And I had made up my mind--even as she spoke, it was my fixed determination, though I was a hundred miles from saying it--to meet Flora on Monday night as a fellow-guest in Mr. Robbie's house. I gave her my money--it was, of course, only paper I had brought. I gave it her, to be her marriage-portion, I declared. "Not so bad a marriage-portion for a private soldier," I told her, laughing, as I passed it through the bars. "O Anne, and where am I to keep it?" she cried. "If my aunt should find it! What would I say?" "Next your heart," I suggested. "Then you will always be near your treasure," she cried, "for you are always there!" We were interrupted by a sudden clearness that fell upon the night. The clouds dispersed: the stars shone in every part of the heavens; and, consulting my watch, I was startled to find it already hard on five in the morning. CHAPTER XXVII THE SABBATH-DAY It was indeed high time I should be gone from Swanston; but what I was to do in the meanwhile was another question. Rowley had received his orders last night: he was to say that I had met a friend, and Mrs. McRankine was not to expect me before morning. A good enough tale in itself; but the dreadful pickle I was in made it out of the question. I could not go home till I had found harbourage, a fire to dry my clothes at, and a bed where I might lie till they were ready.