‘You cowardly fool!’ he hissed in his ear, when he had got him to his own chamber and locked the door. ‘Do you want to ruin us? What are ye afraid of, ye shaking poltroon?’ ‘He knows!’ gasped Richard; ‘I could see it in his eye; he knows.’ ‘Knows!’ echoed Conseltine scornfully. ‘What does he know?’ ‘He knows that the woman at the mill was Moya Macartney.’ ‘And if he does,’ said Conseltine, ‘what then? What can he prove?’ ‘He knows more than that, I’ll swear!’ cried Richard. ‘I saw him look at me. He knows enough to hang us.’ ‘Hang us!’ repeated the elder. ‘By the saints, I’ve a mind to save the hangman half his work, you white-livered, croaking coward!’ ‘If _he_ doesn’t know, Blake does,’ said Richard. ‘Leave Blake to me,’ said his father. ‘I’ll look after Blake. ’Twill be a question of money; he’ll bleed us pretty freely, I expect; but if he opens his mouth too wide I’ll bluff him, and swear he dreamt it. ’Tis two against one, any way; two men of good position and unblemished record against one drunken vagabond. They can prove nothing, let them talk as they may. Feagus will hold his tongue for his own sake, for if the case comes before the court there are three to swear that he suggested the business. There’s no danger at all, except from your cursed cowardice. Pull yourself together, and trust to me. They can prove no motive. Why should you and I go burning mills and killing old peasant women? Feagus is the only creature alive who knows that we were aware of Moya’s identity. Keep a cool head, and you’ll be Lord Kilpatrick before long.’ The task which Peebles had undertaken was no easy one, and the more he contemplated it, the more difficult it seemed to grow. He racked his brains over the problem of how to make known to one in so precarious a condition of health as Lord Kilpatrick the secret of Moya’s continued existence, and of her presence in the neighbourhood. The difficulty was complicated by the cowardly and criminal attempt on her life by two members of his lordship’s family, for the honour of which the faithful old servant was deeply concerned. That two such scoundrels should still be permitted to prey on the kindness of his master, and diminish Desmond’s patrimony, was intolerable; that they should be publicly charged with their crime was impossible. Feagus, too, was in the same boat, and must also be permitted to escape, for it was impossible to denounce him without bringing the crime of the Conseltines to light. But, then, there was the chance--the strong chance--of the gossip of the countryside bringing to their ears the knowledge of Moya’s continued existence, and what three such scoundrels might do to cover their unsuccessful attempt, and to secure their endangered booty, it was hard to say.