“A notebook, and he was terrible particular about the size. He had a piece o’ paper with the measurements wrote on it.” “Ye wouldna find anything fine enough to suit him.” “But I did. There was one left o’ the half-dozen that ye got once for Mr. Symington. He said it was the very thing. . . . Could ye no’ eat something?” He was brooding again, and minutes passed ere he roused himself. “That postman’s got me,” he muttered bitterly, “got me as never a man was got before. I’m cornered. He’ll hear from the girl to-morrow—they’ll ha’ planned about writing, ye can be sure—and then he’ll get to work wi’ the letter. God! I feel like making a bolt for it—but where can a man hide in these days o’ wireless telegrams and so forth.” All at once he turned on her snarling: “What for did ye interfere wi’ my private affairs?” She winced and shuddered. “The Lord kens I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “And He kens I would do anything to help ye now. John, is there anything I can do?” “Aye,” he replied with a dreadful ironic laugh, “ye can burn the cursed letter!” Gaping, she gazed at him. What did he mean? “Only, ye would likewise need to burn the postman’s house over his head, and that within the next twelve hours.” The laugh came again and died into silence. The woman’s face lost its foolish laxness; she seemed to stiffen all over. And suddenly she screamed— “I’ll do it. . . . John, I’ll do it for your sake!” “What?” he shouted, and started to his feet. She staggered, recovered, and rushed from the kitchen. When he followed he found that she had locked herself in her own room. He passed into the dim shop and sat down. “Did she mean it?” he asked of the shadows. And later—“Better her than me, for who would ever suspect her?” It was evening when she came out. She went about her accustomed duties, but her countenance was grey and stony, and she was as one stricken dumb. And he, being afraid to ask a certain question and incapable of thinking of aught else, was dumb also. They retired at the usual hour of ten. CHAPTER X COLIN’S change of mind with respect to the hundred pounds had taken place within the hour following his proud refusal. The thought of Kitty’s position in the event of a scandal was too much for him. Dependent on the Corries, practically a prisoner in Dunford, the sensitive girl would be bound to suffer terribly—and all on account of himself. And so he had gone downstairs, miserable enough, but prepared to tell his father that he would take the money after all, prepared also for humiliation. But, as we know, he was spared the latter. It should be added that he did not for an instant doubt that the notes had been deliberately left on the writing-table. His father was not the man to be careless where money was concerned.