“But ye—ye’ll tell Kitty the truth, John—ye’ll write to her this very day—will ye no’?” she caught his arm. “Pah!” he shook her off. “Let me gang, woman! Well, well. I’ll see. I’ll see.” Alone—“God!” she whispered, “is he no’ a changed man after all?” Symington was at breakfast when Corrie broke in upon him. “What the devil do you want?” was the spurious farmer’s greeting. “I’ve got back the letter?” “Sit down and don’t make a scene,” said Symington, after a moment. “Tell me about it quietly. And look here, Corrie; I was a bit rough on you last night—” “Ye were that! But now it’s my turn—” “One moment. I had good cause for my annoyance—you must admit that much. But after I left you, I thought it over in cold blood, and came to the only conclusion possible. You and I must continue to work together; we must stick to the original bargain—” “Ye’ll mean that ye’ll try to marry her yet and pay me half the profits—” “Exactly! Now tell me about the letter.” Under this coolness Corrie’s violence collapsed. He seated himself, saying: “But can I trust ye to keep a’ I said last night secret?” “We have got to trust each other, Corrie. Let us forget about last night. . . . Now go ahead.” By the end of the postmaster’s brief recital Symington’s brows were contracted. “It’s a puzzler,” he remarked. “I should say that Hayward returned the letter for one of two reasons: either he hadn’t read it through, or else he wants to stand well with you on account of Kitty. What do you think?” Corrie shook his head. “I don’t know what to think, but ’twill do neither of us good if he comes across her in London—” “How do you know he’s going back there?” “I canna’ say for certain, but I’ve heard o’ talk among the servants that there was trouble with his father the other night.” “Possible,” Symington grinned and became grave. “Then what’s he doing back here?” “Ye beat me there. But if ye want advice, it’s just this: get a hold o’ the girl without delay. That’s the only way now to make absolute sure o’ the Zeniths. I can give ye her address for certain.” “Well, I’m hanged!” “My sister got it this morning. Write it down, will ye?” “It’s just as I thought,” said Symington, a moment later, “but I’m obliged to you, Corrie. And, as you say, it’s the only way to make sure of the Zeniths without risking trouble. I’ll go south to-night.” “How are ye going to get a hold o’ her? Ye’ve got to mind she’s wi’ friends—at least I suppose so.” “You can leave that to me. Kitty won’t escape me a third time! I wonder if she’s much in love with that fellow Hayward. Well, if she is, I’ll make use of the fact.” “I’d give something to ha’ him out o’ the road,” said Corrie, with sudden viciousness. “I’ve been thinkin’ he maybe kens more’n he’s shown. If Sam was to get better after a’—” “Don’t start brooding on that!” said Symington shortly. “By the way, have you destroyed the letter?” “No, I’m going to keep it—safely this time.” “Why on earth—”