“We’ll maybe find that out yet, so dinna let it bother ye too much, Miss. But if he tries to frighten ye, let me know, and I’ll deal wi’ him—by gravy, I’ll deal wi’ him!” “Sam, you must be careful. What if he got you into trouble, and you lost your—” “I can take care o’ myself,” said Sam, “except, maybe at the boxing—and I didna get fair play from that scoundrel.” He laughed ruefully. “The beast!” “Well, well, as I said, my turn’ll maybe come—and yours’ll come to a certainty, Miss. Keep up your heart. Are ye feeling a bit better now?” “Oh, yes,” she answered warmly. “It’s not so awful when one isn’t all alone.” “Poor, pretty thing!” he said gently, “ye’ll win through yet. . . . And now we’re nearly there, and I’d best no be seen wi’ ye. We’ll get a talk at sorting-time in the morning.” “Unless I’m forbidden the office.” “If your uncle does that, we’ll just ha’ to find another way.” With a hurried pat on her shoulder, he turned and went. * * * * * The cottage door was not locked. Having entered, Kitty stood still for a moment, listening. Silence. She turned into the kitchen to find it, as she had scarcely dared to hope, unoccupied. Her aunt and uncle had evidently retired for the night. A candle burned on the table. A jug of milk, bread and butter were there also. Somehow the sight of food stirred her sense of humour. She had read of a murderer being treated to an egg with his breakfast on the morning of his execution, and it had struck her as pathetically absurd. Never before had such an attention been paid her. She drank a little milk, because she was thirsty, and went upstairs. On the chest of drawers in her room she found a piece of yellow wrapping paper bearing her aunt’s writing in pencil. “Do your work in the office to-morrow morning as usual.” So her uncle intended to keep his promise that she should “go free” until the following night. But after that, what? If Kitty had disliked Symington in the past, she hated him, nay, detested him now. Yes, and despised him. His assault on Sam had brought about the last. To give Symington his due, he had regretted the blow almost at once. It had been a stupid blunder to make in Kitty’s presence. Her indignant, contemptuous words had told him that. He had gone home angry with himself, cursing the postman, feeling that it would be inadvisable, if not fatal, to approach the girl again until the thing had cooled in her mind. Then he could apologize, blaming the outburst on his overpowering desire for her. Yes, he had better give her a week, during which Old Corrie would, of course, continue to exert his influence. Meantime he would make a trip to London. Whether he liked it or not, he must convert a few Zeniths into cash. Kitty endured a bad two hours before sleep came, but nature won at last, and she passed the remainder of the night in blessed unconsciousness. * * * * *