"The third reason, and I do not say it as my father would..... I know she's here, Mrs. Scott. The soiled cloak on the peg, is hers. She was wearing it yesterday when..... When I found out what kind of man I had become. I can't forgive myself for that. I can only try to make amends, by seeing to it that she is never again brought to such a pass. "But I'm afraid the first step toward that end, must be the visit to my father. You must believe me, he will do nothing to harm her, so long as I remain as her protector. He is angry now, and afraid that she may pose some new threat, when his skies are already darkened for a storm. But when he learns her true nature, as I have, he will realize his mistake. And if I have anything to say about it, he will make restitution as well, for the years he left her destitute. "Mrs. Scott. I don't ask you to forgive the wrongs that were committed in the past, only that you trust me to know the realities of the present. If he is defied, my father will only become more ruthless. He will scour the countryside; he will never stop. You must let me take her to him. There is no other way." The woman moved wearily to her chair, and sat down. Violence she had been prepared to withstand, and treachery. But a seemingly genuine offer of help, from the one man with any influence over their most deadly enemy. . .confused her utterly. Where did her responsibility lie now? For though she tried to suppress it, another thought had occurred to her. If Lord Purceville dropped the charges against her niece, and sent to Edinburgh (or merely buried) the body of Mary's assailant as prisoner number 406, would that not end the search for her son, and make him, in time, a free man? Try as she might, she could not help but wonder at this chance, and weigh it against the possible danger to her niece. "Will you do something for me?" she asked him. "Will you return to me in an hour's time? My niece, as you guessed, is close by. But I must have time to think, and speak to her at length, before I can come to any decision." "You understand that I cannot go far? And that if either of you try to escape, I merely become an extension of my father---just as hard, just as ruthless." "Yes," she replied. "I ask nothing more." ... "Where would you suggest I go?" "Our ancestral gravesite lies in the wooded dell, a quarter of a mile from here, by the back path. There you may satisfy yourself that my son was in fact killed in the war. Nay, don't be angry. I saw the look that crossed your face when your father said those things about him. If you are to remain as Mary's protector..... It's important to me that you know they were not true." "All right. I will remain in the dell for thirty minutes, no more. Then I will ride in wide circles about the house, to insure that no attempt is made to escape. I must take her back, tonight. And the day is already growing long."