Then, seeing how she had incriminated herself, she had plunged into explanations. The door had been ajar--she had been unable to help hearing what Mrs. Stirk had said on the day when he had written to Miss Raeburn--the words had _forced_ themselves on her. It was not her fault. She had never moved from where he had left her sitting at the breakfast-table. Somerville looked squarely at his wife. The door had not been ajar, for he had fastened it carefully, as he always did before hearing private business. He remembered doing so, perfectly. ‘It was not ajar,’ he said, in a voice she had rarely heard; ‘it was shut. And it is impossible to hear between the two rooms.’ ‘I always did hate that old woman!’ cried Mrs. Somerville, her face in a flame, ‘and why you ever let her into the house I never did know! I’m sure if Lucilla were here she would take my part. And now to be accused of----’ ‘What have I accused you of?’ asked her husband. ‘I have not accused you yet. But I will. I accuse you of telling that hound, Barclay, what you heard, and, if I sit here till to-morrow, I will have every word you have betrayed.’ Piece by piece he dragged from her her treachery; evasions, tears, lies, he waded through them all. Furious and frightened, what confidences of Barclay’s she had, she divulged also. At the end he had risen painfully and left the room. The sailor was a hot-headed, hot-hearted man. He had no proof against the lawyer and he knew it; but he believed him capable of anything and was prepared to maintain his belief. ‘You may tell Barclay,’ he said, as he paused at the door, ‘that I have no proof against him but my own conviction. If he can prove me wrong I will apologize humbly--publicly, if he pleases. But, until that day, if he ventures to enter my house while I can stand, I will turn him out of it with my cane.’ When Granny Stirk had done a few matters of business in Kaims, she went down the side-street to the back premises of the Black Horse. Before her, a figure battled with the wind that rushed down the tunnel of houses, and, as he turned into the yard gate, she saw that this person was none other than Barclay. He went in without observing her, and called to a man who was idling among the few vehicles which stood empty about the place. She continued her way round the outside wall to the spot where she had left Rob Roy, and untied the rope by which he was tethered. Above, a large hole in the stonework let out a strong stable smell from the row of dark stalls built against its inner face. The occasional movement of horses mixed with the voices of two people who were walking along the line of animals together. ‘Yon’s them,’ said one of the unseen individuals, as a scraping of boots on the flags suggested that the pair had come to a standstill under the aperture. ‘Now, how many are there exactly?’ inquired the voice of Barclay.