"Tell her that I love Hugh," laughed the girl defiantly. "Tell her that I intend to defeat all her clever intrigues and sly devices!"

His countenance now showed that he was angry. He and Lady Rans...o...b..thoroughly understood each other. He admired the girl, and her mother had a.s.sured him her affection for Hugh Henfrey was but a pa.s.sing fancy.

This stubborn outburst was to him a complete revelation.

"I have no knowledge of any intrigue, Dorise," he said in that bland, superior manner which always irritated her. She knew that a dozen mothers with eligible feminine enc.u.mbrances were trying to angle him, and that Lady Rans...o...b..was greatly envied by them. But to be the wife of the self-conscious a.s.s--well, as she has already bluntly told him, she would die rather than become Mrs. George Sherrard.

"Intrigue!" the girl retorted. "Why, from first to last the whole thing is a plot between my mother and yourself. Please give me credit for just a little intelligence. First, I despise you as a coward. During the war you crept into a little clerkship in the Home Office in order to save your precious skin, while Hugh went to the front and risked his life flying a 'bomber' over the enemy's lines. You were a miserable stay-at-home, hiding in your little bolt-hole in Whitehall when the Zepps came over, while Hugh Henfrey fought for his King and for Britain.

Now I am quite frank, Mr. Sherrard. That's why I despise you!" and the girl's pale face showed two pink spots in the centre of her cheeks.

"Really," he said in that same superior tone which he so constantly a.s.sumed. "I must say that you are the reverse of polite, Miss Dorise,"

and his colour heightened.

"I am! And I intend to be so!" she cried in a frenzy, for all her affection for Hugh had in those moments been redoubled. Her lover was accused and had no chance of self-defence. "Go back to my mother," she went on. "Tell her every word I have said and embroider it as much as you like. Then you can both put your wits together a little further.

But, remember, I shall exert my own woman's wits against yours. And as soon as you feel it practicable, I hope you will leave Blairglas. And further, if you have not left by noon to-morrow, I will tell my maid, Duncan, the whole story of this sinister plot to part me from Hugh. She will spread it, I a.s.sure you. Maids gossip--and to a purpose when their mistresses will it so."

"But Dorise--"

"Enough! Mr. Sherrard. I prefer to walk up to the Castle by myself.

Murray will bring up the rods. Please tell my mother what I say when you get back," she added. "The night train from Perth to London leaves at nine-forty to-night," she said with biting sarcasm.

Then turning, she began to ascend the steep path which led from the river bank into a cornfield and through the wood, while the man stood and bit his lip.

"H'm!" he growled beneath his breath. "We shall see!--yes, we shall see!"

FOURTEENTH CHAPTER

RED DAWN

That night when Dorise, in a pretty, pale-blue evening gown, entered the great, old panelled dining-room rather late for dinner, her mother exclaimed petulantly:

"How late you are, dear! Mr. Sherrard has had a telegram recalling him to London. He has to catch the nine-something train from Perth."

"Have you?" she asked the man who was odious to her. "I'm so sorry I'm late, but that Mackenzie girl called. They are getting up a bazaar for the old people down in the village, and we have to help it, I suppose.

Oh! these bazaars, sales of work, and other little excuses for extracting shillings from the pockets of everybody! They are most wearying."

"She called on me last week," said Lady Rans...o...b.. "Newte told her I was not at home."

The old-fashioned butler, John Newte, a white-haired, rosy-faced man, who had seen forty years' service with the ducal owner of Blairglas, served the dinner in his own stately style. Sir Richard had been a good master, but things had never been the same since the castle had pa.s.sed into its new owner's hands.

Dorise endeavoured to be quite affable to the smooth-haired man seated before her, expressing regret that he was called away so suddenly, while he, on his part, declared that it was "awful hard luck," as he had been looking forward to a week's good sport on the river.

"Do come back, George," Lady Rans...o...b..urged. "Get your business over and get back here for the weekend."

"I'll try," was Sherrard's half-hearted response, whereat Newte entered to announce that the car was ready.

Then he bade mother and daughter adieu, and went out.

Dorise could see that her mother was considerably annoyed at her plans being so abruptly frustrated.

"We must ask somebody else," she said, as they lingered over the dessert. "Whom shall we ask?"

"I really don't care in the least, mother. I'm quite happy here alone.

It is a rest. We shall have to be back in town in a fortnight, I suppose."

"George could quite well have waited for a day or two," Lady Rans...o...b..declared. "I went out to see the Muirs, at Forteviot, and when I got back he told me he had just had a telegram telling him that it was imperative he should be in town to-morrow morning. I tried to persuade him to stay, but he declared it to be impossible."

"An appointment with a lady, perhaps," laughed Dorise mischievously.

"What next, my dear! You know he is over head and ears in love with you!"

"Oh! That's quite enough, mother. You've told me that lots of times before. But I tell you quite frankly his love leaves me quite cold."

"Ah! dear. That reply is, after all, but natural. You, of course, won't confess the truth," her mother laughed.

"I do, mother. I'm heartily glad the fellow has gone. I hate his supercilious manner, his superior tone, and his unctuous bearing. He's simply odious! That's my opinion."

Her mother looked at her severely across the table.

"Please remember, Dorise, that George is my friend."

"I never forget that," said the girl meaningly, as she rose and left the table.

Half an hour later, when she entered her bedroom, she found Duncan, her maid, awaiting her.

"Oh! I've been waiting to see you this half hour, miss," she said. "I couldn't get you alone. Just before eight o'clock, as I was about to enter the park by the side gate near Bervie Farm, a gentleman approached me and asked if my name was Duncan. I told him it was, and then he gave me this to give to you in secret. He also gave me a pound note, miss, to say nothing about it." And the prim lady's maid handed her young mistress a small white envelope upon which her name was written.

Opening it, she found a plain visiting card which bore the words in a man's handwriting:

"Would it be possible for you to meet me to-night at ten at the spot where I have given this to your maid? Urgent.--SILVERADO."

Dorise held her breath. It was a message from the mysterious white cavalier who had sought her out at the _bal blanc_ at Nice, and told her of Hugh's peril!

Duncan was naturally curious owing to the effect the card had had upon her mistress, but she was too well trained to make any comment. Instead, she busied herself at the wardrobe, and a few moments afterwards left the room.

Dorise stood before the long cheval gla.s.s, the card still in her hand.

What did it mean? Why was the mysterious white cavalier in Scotland? At least she would now be able to see his face. It was past nine, and the moon was already shining. She had still more than half an hour before she went forth to meet the man of mystery.

She descended to the drawing-room, where her mother was reading, and after playing over a couple of songs as a camouflage, she pretended to be tired and announced her intention of retiring.

"We have to go into Edinburgh to-morrow morning," her mother remarked.

"So we should start pretty early. I've ordered the car for nine o'clock."

"All right, mother. Good-night," said the girl as she closed the door.