“Oh, do you, my fine young lady? You are not the mistress of this Hall, not by a long way, I reckon. Who are you indeed? A penniless Scot that no one would listen to. I should like to see you go with your tales to Mistress Mowbray. She’d soon turn you upside down and spoil that pretty skin of yours,” he growled coarsely. “But I shall find it my duty to tell Master Mowbray,” said Aline. “Oh, that is the way the land lies, you miserable tell-tale, is it?” Aline felt herself blush, as the retort stung, but she knew she was right, and she only said, “But I should not tell any one if you would give back the grain.” “Would you not?” he said fiercely; “well, I’ll see you never get the chance, you little she-devil.” As he spoke he stepped forward and placed his great hand over her mouth and lifting her up as though she were a mere nothing, he ran with her to the gate and on to the middle of the drawbridge. “No one will miss you in this house, you blethering babe, and they will just think that you have somehow fallen in, playing round in the dark. Mistress Mowbray would give me a month’s pay, if I dared ask for it, you wretched brat.” She was absolutely powerless in his strong arms and he raised her above his head and flung her into the moat. She struck the side of the bridge as she fell and then dropped into the dark water. Andrew did not wait, but ran some way into the gloom of the night and then stood to listen whether any hue and cry was raised. Not a sound was to be heard and after about a quarter of an hour he dimly could distinguish his fellow servants walking home. Obviously they were unconscious that anything unusual had happened and he was able to breathe freely as he muttered to himself, “That was well done, she will tell no tales now.” He crept back to the moat and peered in. All was still and black and the moat gave no sign of the horrible deed that had just taken place in its waters. Hardened wretch that he was, he could not help a shudder as he thought of what lay under that inky surface. CHAPTER VIII REMORSE Andrew argued with himself as he walked homeward. No one could suspect him. No one? Wait! There was one. What about Thomas? Thomas was not a man to be trusted. At any moment he might find it to his own interests to tell what he knew. Andrew began to be afraid. “I was a fool,” he said, “after all. I must escape, escape at once; I will not go home.” He was not very clear in what direction to go. His original home was near Carlisle, but for that reason he avoided it. He would go south, he would make his way over the hills to Brough and Kirkby Stephen and then strike for Lancaster. He had plenty of money and was able to secure horses at Brough so that he actually got as far as Lancaster the next night. Here he thought he might escape notice and right thankful was he to get to his bed.