It was a strange voice which asked this question. I looked up over my shoulder, and saw a man of no particular age, dressed in gown and cassock. (Note 1.) Miss Newton looked up too, laughing.
“Indeed I cannot, Mr Raymond,” said she. “Can you?”
“Only by events,” he answered. “I should expect it to be after the King has entered His capital.”
I felt, rather than saw, what he meant.
“I am a poor hand at riddles,” said Miss Newton, shaking her head. “I did not expect to see you here, Mr Raymond.”
“Nor would you have seen me here,” was the answer, “had I not been charged to deliver a message of grave import to one who is here.”
“Not me, I hope?” said Miss Newton, looking graver.
“Not you. I trust you will thank God for it. And now, can you kindly direct me to the young lady for whom I am to look? Is there here a Miss Flora Drummond?”
I sprang up with a smothered cry of “Angus!”
“Are you Miss Drummond?” he asked, very kindly.