And now she was in the apartment above the sitting-room. The light was very dim, but she soon found what she sought. In a moment the chintz cover was off and laid aside. Then in a sort of splendid fury, with heavy, powerful tools, she attacked the lock, wrenching, twisting, thrusting, driving, heedless of the attendant noise. And at last the mauled and shattered thing gave. With a fierce blow of hammer on sturdy screw-driver she drove it inwards. The heavy lid yielded. The bundle of Zenith certificates were there for her to take. She hid them in her dress. . . . She swept up the smallest trace of her work, closed the lid, and neatly replaced the chintz cover. There would be no discovery till Symington himself made it. As she left the house she glimpsed, away to the left, a smoky glow, over the hollow that hid the mill. Without a second glance she set out for home along the still deserted road. Having bolted the cottage door and returned the tools to their place, she sat down to examine her prize. “The scoundrel has parted wi’ 500 shares!” she muttered after a careful recount of the certificates. “Poor John, it was an evil day when ye let Alec Symington into this house. But Kitty ’ll forgive ye a tenth part o’ her fortune—if she doesna, I’ll offer her every penny I possess. Oh, John, I think I’ve saved ye; and some day I’ll confess to ye about the mill. I’ll never regret it. . . . But what’s this?” She had become conscious of a folded paper, unlike in texture the certificates, lying on her lap. She must have inadvertently picked it from the strong box along with the bundle. It was endorsed “Lease of House at 73 Lester Road, Richmond, Surrey.” She opened it and read. . . . “So he’s got a house at that place,” she reflected. “Well, it’s none o’ my business. I wonder if John kens. Likely no. . . . I’ll ha’ to try to put it back in the box—no! I’ll risk nothing for that scoundrel’s sake! He can want his lease!” She made to toss it into the fire, then drew back. “I’ll keep it in the meantime along wi’ the shares till the time comes for telling John. . . . The sooner they’re hid the better.” She rose, and stood wavering. “Oh, God, but I’m weak,” she whispered. “Help me to win through.” * * * * * It was late when her brother came in, begrimed and drenched. She had a meal all but ready for him. “Tell me about it, John,” she said, as he came to the fire in dry garments. “I couldna gang—couldna bear to see it.” “Ye would ha’ seen a grand blaze,” he returned bitterly. “There’s nothing left—new machinery and all!” “Well, well,” she said soothingly, “it’s a fine thing an insurance policy.” “Very fine—when ye’ve paid the premium.” Stopping short in her hospitable task, she stared at him. “But ye ha’ paid it a month back!”