SIR ARCHIE, IF NOT a skeleton at the feast, was no better than a shadow. The fragment of drama which he had witnessed had rudely divorced his mind from the intelligent conversation of Mr. Bandicott, he was no longer slightly irritated by Mr. Claybody, he forgot even the attractions of Janet. What was going on in that twilit vale? Lady Maisie’s Pool had still a shimmer of gold, but the woods were now purple and the waterside turf a dim amethyst, the colour of the darkening sky. All sound had ceased, except the rare cry of a bird from the hill, and the hoot of a wandering owl. . . . Crossby had beyond doubt been taken, but where was Leithen?
He was recalled to his surroundings by Janet’s announcement that Mr. Bandicott proposed to take them all in his car to the meeting at Muirtown.
“Oh, I
