He was aware that he had committed a great mistake, he knew that his position was precarious; but his confidence in his vision, and the mission with which he was entrusted remained unshaken, and this confidence justified to his conscience the crime that he had committed, if, indeed, he had committed one. But in the gyration of thoughts in his brain, only one fact stood out clearly—that a blue-bottle fly menaced the corpse, and that it was his duty to drive the insect away. He was engaged on this obligation, when a hand touched him, and on looking round he saw Patience Kite. “Captain Saltren,” said the woman, “why are you here? I saw you both on top of the cleave, and I do know that he did not fall by chance. I will not tell of you.” He looked at her with blank eyes. “Others may have seen you besides myself. You must not be found here.” “I am glad,” said he dreamily, talking to himself, not to her, “I am glad that I had, myself, no occasion against him. I thought I had, but I had not.” “Come with me,” said Mrs. Kite, “folks are near at hand. I hear them.” He looked wistfully at the dead face. “I cannot,” he said. “What! Do you want to be taken by the police?” “I cannot—I am held by the blue-bottle.” In a moment she stooped, snapped her hands together and caught the fly. “Now,” said Saltren, “I will follow. It was not I, I am but the miserable instrument. The hand did it that brought him my way, that led him to the edge, and that then laid hold of my arm.” Patience caught him by the shoulder and urged him away. “You must not be seen near the body. Take my advice and be off to Captain Tubb about some lime, and so establish an alibi.” Saltren shook his head. “If not, then come along with me. I will show you a hiding-place no one thinks of. Folks could not tell how to take it, when they did find me lying buried under the fallen chimney; but when I saw it was cracking, I made off through the dust, and none saw me escape. At the night-meeting some thought, when I stood on the table behind you, that I was a spirit. You can feel my grip on your arm, that I am in the flesh and hearty. I set fire to the tumbled thatch. It does good to scarce folks at times.” She drew Saltren into the wood. From a vantage point on the other side of the valley from that of the crag, themselves screened from sight, they could see a cluster of men about the dead body of Lord Lamerton, and Mrs. Saltren gesticulating behind them. “I wonder,” said Patience Kite, “whether that wife of yours be a fool or not? Your safety, I reckon, depends on her tongue. If she has sense, she will say she found the dead lord, as she was going to fetch water. If she’s a fool, she’ll let out about you. Did any one see you on the down?” “I think Macduff went by some time before.” “Yes—I saw’n go along. That was some while afore.” Saltren said nothing. He was less concerned about his own safety than Mrs. Kite supposed. He was intently watching the men raise the dead body.