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It lay heavy on Midwinter's conscience that he had kept secret from Allan a discovery which he ought in Allan's dearest interests to have revealed the discovery of his mother's room. But one doubt still closed his lips the doubt whether Mrs. Armadale's conduct in Madeira had been kept secret on her return to England.
There was a little seed of hard self-love in Gilbert that she wanted him to dig up from the soil and get rid of before it sprouted and waxed too strong. "Julia is a Carey chicken after all, Gilbert," she said. "But she's Uncle Allan's chicken, and I'm Captain Carey's eldest son." "That's the very note I should strike if I were you," his mother responded, "only with a little different accent.
At this point Allan opened his lips to interrupt, and was himself interrupted before he could utter a word. "Wait!" interposed Midwinter, seeing in Allan's face that he was in danger of being publicly announced in the capacity of steward. "Wait!" he repeated, eagerly, "till I can speak to you first."
But the meal was soon at an end, and the prospect of labors to be undertaken cheered Allan's spirit. Despite his stiff and painful arm, he felt courage and energy throbbing in his veins, and longed to be at work. "The very first thing we must do," said he, "is fix up a place for our guests. They've got to stay here, out of the light, till nightfall. That will give us plenty of time.
The rest, by "papa's" advice, she would beg to leave entirely in Mr. Armadale's hands; and, in the meantime, she would remain, with "papa's" compliments, Mr. Armadale's truly ELEANOR MILROY. Who would ever have supposed that the writer of that letter had jumped for joy when Allan's invitation arrived?
Midwinter secured the letter as he had secured the letter that preceded it side by side in his pocket-book with the narrative of Allan's Dream. "How many days more?" he asked himself, as he went back to the house. "How many days more?" Not many. The time he was waiting for was a time close at hand. Monday came, and brought Mr. Bashwood, punctual to the appointed hour.
The door of Allan's room fell to, but not noisily enough to wake him. She turned as she heard it close. For one moment she stood staring at it like a woman stupefied. The next, her instinct rushed into action, before her reason recovered itself. In two steps she was at the door of Number Four. The door was locked.
The younger girl, who had counted so ardently upon the pleasure of Allan's society, found herself in a short time too sleepy to enjoy it. Her pale, pretty head nodded drowsily, and at last found a resting-place in the lap of her sister. The other two did not exchange many words. It would have been a shame to disturb the play-worn little maid.
Uncle Neil, coming up from the pump in the orchard, with two pails of fresh water, announced that the whole MacKenzie family were coming across the field, and burst into the song that always set Ellen's cheeks flaming. "MacDonald's men, Clan Donald's men, MacKenzie's men, MacGillivray's men, Strath Allan's men, the Lowland men Are coming late and early!"
Allan's instinct had guessed, and the guiding influence stood revealed of Midwinter's interest in Miss Gwilt. "What right have you to say that?" he asked, with raised voice and threatening eyes. "I told you," said Allan, simply, "when I thought I was sweet on her myself.
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