Dick o' the Syke was grubbing among the fallen wreck of the charred and dismantled mill. When Hugh rode past him he lifted his eyes and muttered an oath beneath his breath. Old Laird Fisher was trundling a wheelbarrow on the bank of the smelting-house. The headgear of the pit-shaft was working. As Hugh passed the smithy, John Proudfoot was standing, hammer in hand, by the side of a wheelless wagon upheld by poles. John was saying, "Wonder what sec a place Mister Paul slept a' Saturday neet--I reckon that wad settle all;" and a voice from inside the smithy answered: "Nowt of the sort, John; it's a fate, I tell, tha." The peddler's pony was standing by the hasp of the gate. Never once lifting his eyes, with head bent and compressed lips, Hugh Ritson rode on in the teeth of the coming storm. There was another storm within that was uprooting every emotion of his soul. When he came to the vicarage he drew up sharply and rapped heavily on the gate. Brother Peter came shambling out at the speed of six steps a minute. "Mr. Christian at home?" asked Hugh. "Don't know as he is," said Peter. "Where is he?" "Don't know as I've heard." "Tell him I'll call as I come back, in two hours." "Don't know as I'll see him." "Then go and look for him!" shouted Hugh, impatiently bringing down the whip on the flank of the horse. Brother Peter Ward turned about sulkily. "Don't know as I will," he grumbled, and trudged back into the house. Then Hugh Ritson rode on. A thin sleet began to fall, and it drove hard into his face. The roads were crisp, and the horse sometimes stumbled; but the rider pressed on. In less than half an hour he was riding into the town. The people who were standing in groups in the market-place parted and made space for him. They hailed him with respectful salutations. He responded curtly or not at all. Notwithstanding his long ride, his face was still pale, and his lips were bloodless. He stopped at the court-yard leading to the front of the Pack Horse. Old Willie Calvert, the innkeeper, stood there, and touched his cap when Hugh approached him. "My brother Paul slept here a few nights ago, I hear?" said Hugh. "So he did," said the innkeeper. "What night was it?" "What night? Let me see--it were a week come Wednesday." "Did you see him yourself?" "Nay; I were lang abed." "Who did--Mistress Calvert?" "Ey--she did for sure--Janet" (calling up the court). "She'll tell ye all the ins and oots." A comfortable-looking elderly body in a white cap and print apron came to the door. "You saw my brother--Paul, you know--when he slept at your house last Wednesday night?" "Yes, surely," said Janet. "What did he say?"