promising　quite　as　fairly　for　the　future　as　it　had　promised　at
  first。
  CHAPTER　VII。
  THE　PLOT　THICKENS。
  Two　messages　were　waiting　for　Allan　when　he　returned　to　the
  house。　One　had　been　left　by　Midwinter。　〃He　had　gone　out　for　a
  long　walk；　and　Mr。　Armadale　was　not　to　be　alarmed　if　he　did　not
  get　back　till　late　in　the　day。〃　The　other　message　had　been　left
  by　〃a　person　from　Mr。　Pedgift's　office；〃　who　had　called；
  according　to　appointment；　while　the　two　gentlemen　were　away　at
  the　major's。　〃Mr。　Bashwood's　respects；　and　he　would　have　the
  honor　of　waiting　on　Mr。　Armadale　again　in　the　course　of　the
  evening。〃
  Toward　five　o'clock；　Midwinter　returned；　pale　and　silent。　Allan
  hastened　to　assure　him　that　his　peace　was　made　at　the　cottage；
  and　then；　to　change　the　subject；　mentioned　Mr。　Bashwood's
  message。　Midwinter's　mind　was　so　preoccupied　or　so　languid　that
  he　hardly　seemed　to　remember　the　name。　Allan　was　obliged　to
  remind　him　that　Bashwood　was　the　elderly　clerk；　whom　Mr。　Pedgift
  had　sent　to　be　his　instructor　in　the　duties　of　the　steward's
  office。　He　listened　without　making　any　remark；　and　withdrew　to
  his　room；　to　rest　till　dinner…time。
  Left　by　himself；　Allan　went　into　the　library；　to　try　if　he　could
  while　away　the　time　over　a　book。
  He　took　many　volumes　off　the　shelves；　and　put　a　few　of　them　back
  again；　and　there　he　ended。　Miss　Milroy　contrived　in　some
  mysterious　manner　to　get；　in　this　case；　between　the　reader　and
  the　books。　Her　formal　bow　and　her　merciless　parting　speech　dwelt；
  try　how　he　might　to　forget　them；　on　Allan's　mind；　he　began　to
  grow　more　and　more　anxious　as　the　idle　hour　wore　on；　to　recover
  his　lost　place　in　her　favor。　To　call　again　that　day　at　the
  cottage；　and　ask　if　he　had　been　so　unfortunate　as　to　offend　her；
  was　impossible。　To　put　the　question　in　writing　with　the　needful
  nicety　of　expression　proved；　on　trying　the　experiment；　to　be　a
  task　beyond　his　literary　reach。　After　a　turn　or　two　up　and　down
  the　room；　with　his　pen　in　his　mouth；　he　decided　on　the　more
  diplomatic　course　（which　happened；　in　this　case；　to　be　the
  easiest　course；　too）；　of　writing　to　Miss　Milroy　as　cordially　as
  if　nothing　had　happened；　and　of　testing　his　position　in　her　good
  graces　by　the　answer　that　she　sent　him　back。　An　invitation　of
  some　kind　（including　her　father；　of　course；　but　addressed
  directly　to　herself）　was　plainly　the　right　thing　to　oblige　her　to
  send　a　written　reply；　but　here　the　difficulty　occurred　of　what
  the　invitation　was　to　be。　A　ball　was　not　to　be　thought　of；　in　his
  present　position　with　the　resident　gentry。　A　dinner…party；　with
  no　indispensable　elderly　lady　on　the　premises　to　receive　Miss
  Milroyexcept　Mrs。　Gripper；　who　could　only　receive　her　in　the
  kitchenwas　equally　out　of　the　question。　What　was　the　invitation
  to　be？　Never　backward；　when　he　wanted　help；　in　asking　for　it
  right　and　left　in　every　available　direction；　Allan；　feeling
  himself　at　the　end　of　his　own　resources；　coolly　rang　the　bell；
  and　astonished　the　servant　who　answered　it　by　inquiring　how　the
  late　family　at　Thorpe　Ambrose　used　to　amuse　themselves；　and　what
  sort　of　invitations　they　were　in　the　habit　of　sending　to　their
  friends。
  〃The　family　did　what　the　rest　of　the　gentry　did；　sir；〃　said　the
  man；　staring　at　his　master　in　utter　bewilderment。　〃They　gave
  dinner…parties　and　balls。　And　in　fine　summer　weather；　sir；　like
  this；　they　sometimes　had　lawn…parties　and　picnics〃
  〃That'll　do！〃　shouted　Allan。　〃A　picnic's　just　the　thing　to　please
  her。　Richard；　you're　an　invaluable　man；　you　may　go　downstairs
  again。〃
  Richard　retired　wondering；　and　Richard's　master　seized　his　ready
  pen。
  〃DEAR　MISS　MILROYSince　I　left　you　it　has　suddenly　struck　me
  that　we　might　have　a　picnic。　A　little　change　and　amusement　（what
  I　should　call　a　good　shaking…up；　if　I　wasn't　writing　to　a　young
  lady）　is　just　the　thing　for　you；　after　being　so　long　indoors
  lately　in　Mrs。　Milroy's　room。　A　picnic　is　a　change；　and　（when　the
  wine　is　good）　amusement；　too。　Will　you　ask　the　major　if　he　will
  consent　to　the　picnic；　and　come？　And　if　you　have　got　any　friends
  in　the　neighborhood　who　like　a　picnic；　pray　ask　them　too；　for　I
  have　got　none。　It　shall　be　your　picnic；　but　I　will　provide
  everything　and　take　everybody。　You　shall　choose　the　day；　and　we
  will　picnic　where　you　like。　I　have　set　my　heart　on　this　picnic。
  〃Believe　me；　ever　yours；
  〃ALLAN　ARMADALE。〃
  On　reading　over　his　composition　before　sealing　it　up；　Allan
  frankly　acknowledged　to　himself；　this　time；　that　it　was　not　quite
  faultless。　〃　'Picnic'　comes　in　a　little　too　often；〃　he　said。
  〃Never　mind；　if　she　likes　the　idea；　she　won't　quarrel　with　that。〃
  He　sent　off　the　letter　on　the　spot；　with　strict　instructions　to
  the　messenger　to　wait　for　a　reply。
  In　half　an　hour　the　answer　came　back　on　scented　paper；　without　an
  erasure　anywhere；　fragrant　to　smell；　and　beautiful　to　see。
  The　presentation　of　the　naked　truth　is　one　of　those　exhibitions
  from　which　the　native　delicacy　of　the　female　mind　seems
  instinctively　to　revolt。　Never　were　the　tables　turned　more
  completely　than　they　were　now　turned　on　Allan　by　his　fair
  correspondent。　Machiavelli　himself　would　never　have　suspected；
  from　Miss　Milroy's　letter；　how　heartily　she　had　repented　her
  petulance　to　the　young　squire　as　soon　as　his　back　was　turned；　and
  how　extravagantly　delighted　she　was　when　his　invitation　was
  placed　in　her　hands。　Her　letter　was　the　composition　of　a　model
  young　lady　whose　emotions　are　all　kept　under　parental　lock　and
  key；　and　served　out　for　her　judiciously　as　occasion　may　re　quire。
  〃Papa；〃　appeared　quite　as　frequently　in　Miss　Milroy's　reply　as
  〃picnic〃　had　appeared　in　Allan's　invitation。　〃Papa〃　had　been　as
  considerately　kind　as　Mr。　Armadale　in　wishing　to　procure　her　a
  little　change　and　amusement；　and　had　offered　to　forego　his　usual
  quiet　habits　and　join　the　picnic。　With　〃papa's〃　sanction；
  therefore；　she　accepted；　with　much　pleasure；　Mr。　Armadale's
  proposal；　and；　at　〃papa's〃　suggestion；　she　would　presume　on　Mr。
  Armadale's　kindness　to　add　two　friends　of　theirs　recently　settled
  at　Thorpe　Ambrose；　to　the　picnic　partya　widow　lady　and　her　son；
  the　latter　in　holy　orders　and　in　delicate　health。　If　Tuesday　next
  would　suit　Mr。　Armadale；　Tuesday　next　would　suit　〃papa〃being
  the　first　day　he　could　spare　from　repairs　which　were　required　by
  his　clock。　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　trulyELEANOR
  MILROY。〃
  Who　would　ever　have　supposed　that　the　writer　of　that　letter　had
  jumped　for　joy　when　Allan's　invitation　arrived？　Who　would　ever
  have　suspected　that　there　was　an　entry　already　in　Miss　Milroy's
  diary；　under　that　day's　date；　to　this　effect：　〃The　sweetest；
  dearest　letter　from　_I…know…who；_　I'll　never　behave　unkindly　to
  him　again　as　long　as　I　live？〃　As　for　Allan；　he　was　charmed　with
  the　sweet　success　of　his　maneuver。　Miss　Milroy　had　accepted　his
  invitation；　consequently；　Miss　Milroy　was　not　offended　with　him。
  It　was　on　the　tip　of　his　tongue　to　mention　the　correspondence　to
  his　friend　when　they　met　at　dinner。　But　there　was　something　in
  Midwinter's　face　and　manner　（even　plain　enough　for　Allan　to　see）
  which　warned　him　to　wait　a　little　before　he　said　anything　to
  revive　the　painful　subject　of　their　visit　to　the　cottage。　By
  common　consent　they　both　avoided　all　topics　connected　with　Thorpe
  Ambrose；　not　even　the　visit　from　Mr。　Bashwood；　which　was　to　come
  with　the　evening；　being　referred　to　by　either　of　them。　All
  through　the　dinner　they　drifted　further　and　further　back　into　the
  old　endless　talk　of　past　times　about　ships　and　sailing。　When　the
  butler　withdrew　from　his　attendance　at　table；　he　came　downstairs
  with　a　nautical　problem　on　his　mind；　and　asked　his
  fellow…servants　if　they　any　of　them　knew　the　relative　merits　〃on
  a　wind〃　and　〃off　a　wind〃　of　a　schooner　and　a　brig。
  The　two　young　men　had　sat　longer　at　table　than　usual　that　day。
  When　they　went　out　into　the　garden　with　their　cigars；　the　summer
  twilight　fell　gray　and　dim　on　lawn　and　flower　bed；　and　narrowed
  round　them　by　slow　degrees　the　softly　fading　circle　of　the
  distant　view。　The　dew　was　heavy；　and；　after　a　few　minutes　in　the
  garden；　they　agreed　to　go　back　to　the　drier　ground　on　the　drive
  in　front　of　the　house。
  They　were　close　to　the　turning　which　led　into　the　shrubbery；　when
  there　suddenly　glided　out　on　them；　from　behind　the　foliage；　a
  softly　stepping　black　figurea　shadow；　moving　darkly　through　the
  dim　evening　light。　Midwinter　started　back　at　the　sight　of　it；　and
  even　the　less　finely　strung　nerves　of　his　friend　were　shaken　for
  the　moment。
  〃Who　the　devil　are　you？〃　cried　Allan。
  The　figure　bared　its　head　in　the　gray　light；　and　came　slowly　a
  step　nearer。　Midwinter　advanced　a　step　on　his　side；　and　looked
  closer。　It　was　the　man　of　the　timid　manners　and　the　mourning
  garments；　of　whom　he　had　asked　the　way　to　Thorpe　Ambrose　where
  the　three　roads　met。
  〃Who　are　you？〃　repeated　Allan。
  〃I　humbly　beg　your　pardon；　sir；〃　faltered　the　stranger；　stepping
  back　again；　confusedly。　〃The　servants　told　me　I　should　find　Mr。
  Armadale〃
  〃What；　are　you　Mr。　Bashwood？〃
  〃Yes；　if　you　please；　sir。〃
  〃I　beg　your　pardon　for　s