the ancient roof-tree, and only left a solemn
dignity in its place. Here was something that
impressed one, as if a simple childlike spirit
were looking forth from solemn eyes.

Two voices went whispering, round the
comer of the passage, of servants who had met
going their several errands.

“Praises be to God, he’s home!” said one
whisper. “They were havin’ it in the village
this mornin’ that he was took.”

“Holy Vargin!” said the other, “I niver
h’ard a word o’ that. Did her ladyship know
it?”

“Not herself!” said the first whisper, “or it’s
in stericks she’d a been. We kep’ it dark as
dungeon in the kitchen. But the people in the
village har’ly slep’ a wink all night.”

“Well, thank the Lord of Heaven, we have
him back safe an’ sound.”

And then Hester’s conductor made an appearance,
with apologies; and the stranger was
conducted to her room.

It was a ghostly round room, this room in
the east tower, which had been assigned to the
new comer’s especial use. It had two quaint
turret windows, knowing the secrets of the
glen, looking down on green peaceful slopes,
peering up at wild lonely wildernesses of wood,
and of rock, and of mist. A strait strip
of tapestry hung by each side of these narrow
windows, like the single scanty tress by each
cheek of an aged face. There were figures
wrought in this tapestry; and as the breeze
that came in with Hester stirred its folds, the
figures nodded their heads, a moan went
through the sash, and a shudder shook the dim
panes of the windows.

There was a pleasant fire of turf alight in
the grate. It made the dark corners glower,
and the glasses on the pictures flash; and for
the two black marble imps who carried the
chimneypiece on their shoulders, it threw a
lurid light of mischief into their eyes, making
them wink at each other and grin till they
seemed plotting to pull the walls about their
ears.

But whatever else the fire did it gave Hester
a cordial greeting. The door was shut in the
passage, and it had her all to itself. It laughed
in her face, it licked her hands, it stroked her
head, and made murmurs over her. It approved
and caressed her, it loved, and perhaps
pitied her. It purred in her ear, “Cheer up,
and don’t cry!” It may also have meant,
“You have come here to much trouble!”
Hester only understood that it was a friend
giving a welcome.

She untied the strings of her hat, and spread
her hands before the fire. Those whispers
heard in the passage still went rustling through
her ears. Lady Humphrey had said well that
Sir Archie was in danger. But these people
did not know that he had a friend able and
willing to protect him; still less could they
imagine that she (Hester) was to be the instrument
to be made use of by the saving hands of
that friend. Now how strangely all other interests
had grown trivial compared with this
one. She thought but little of Janet Golden
and her lover; she thought less of Lady
Helen and her gowns.

A servant brought her dinner and a lighted
lamp. After dinner she unpacked her desk, and
set to work to write a letter to Lady Humphrey.
The wind began to rumble round the tower, and
to pipe, like an organ, in the chimney. The
windows began to moan, and the faces on the
tapestry to nod. Hester’s first letter of tidings
from Glenluce was getting written. A slim
young person, in a pale woollen dress, with the
lamplight making a glitter about her fair bent
head. This was Hester, as a person might behold
her from the doorway.

CHAPTER XV. VISITORS IN THE TOWER.

HESTER had three lady visitors in her tower
that night, and the first of the three was Janet
Golden.

Miss Golden was dressing for dinner when
she heard the wheels of a coach. Miss Golden
was very pretty, as I think I have said before.
She and her mirror were fully aware of this
fact, and to-night they were taking note of it as
usual.

Miss Golden was not a young lady to hear
the wheels of a coach without going to the
window to see further into the matter. She
put her face to the pane, and saw Sir Archie
alight. She kept her face to the pane, and saw
Hester alight. She pressed her face to the
pane, and saw Sir Archie leading Hester up his
steps to his hall-door.

It seemed that Miss Janet did not like what
she saw. She quarrelled with her maid, and
dismissed her in a pet; and after this had been
accomplished she made a rent in her handsome
dinner-dress; and after this last had been effected,
she sat down before her fire, and began
to think.

That effort, to a young lady of fashion, was
just as difficult in those days as in these. Janet
hardly knew what vexed her, and could not
task herself so far as to find out. She ought to
have been glad to see Sir Archie coming home,
and she was not glad. She was weary of her
life at Glenluce, and yet she would not go away.
She was longing to be back in London, and yet
they talked of a wedding here. She was to be
mistress in these glens, and she yawned at the
dreary thought.

She had had a good resting time while Sir
Archie was in London. She had been dull to
be sure, but she could not avoid that. She had
been neither so gay nor so ill-humoured as when
Sir Archie had been at home. She had had
some leisure to remember that there was something
in the world which she had fancied, and
had not got. She had had it between her
fingers, and thrown it away. She had expected
it would come back again, but it had not come
as yet. In the hurry of her daily business at
Glenluce—which was to tease Sir Archie Munro
—she had formerly had no time to remember
what she wanted. In his absence she had