"So effectually," she replied, "that the poor man has gone home. I am to present his excuses to every one." The Duchess paused for a moment in the playing of her hand. Her brother, with unfailing tact, threw himself into the breach. "I suppose," he said, "that we can scarcely realise the responsibilities which these kings of finance carry always upon their shoulders. They tell me that Mr. Thain has his telegrams and cables stopped in London by a secretary and telephoned here, just to save a few minutes. He receives sometimes as many as half a dozen messages during the night." The Duchess continued to play her hand. "After all," she remarked, "I fear that I shall not be able to ask Mr. Thain to Scotland. One would feel the responsibility so much if he were to lose anything he valued, by coming." CHAPTER XXXIII Richard Vont, as though he had been sitting there listening for the raising of the latch, was on his feet before David could enter the sitting room. "The Lord's day has come," he muttered, dragging him in. "It's been a weary while, but it's come." David threw off his overcoat in silence, and the old man looked wonderingly at his clothes. "You've been taking your dinner up with them--at the house?" he asked. David nodded. "Yes," he assented. "Your note found me there. I came as soon as I could." "I never doubted ye," the old man muttered. "I knew you'd come." David, suddenly stifled, threw open the cottage window. When he came back into the little circle of lamp-light, his face was pale and set. He was filled with a premonition of evil. "I want you to listen to me, uncle," he said earnestly. "I have something to say." "Something to say?" the old man repeated. "Another time, my boy---another time. To-night you have work to do," he added, with a fierce flash of triumph in his eyes. "Work?" "Aye!--to keep your oath." "But to-night? What can I do to-night?" David exclaimed. "No, don't tell me," he went on quickly. "I'll have my say first." "Get on with it, then. There's time. I'm listening." "I have forgotten nothing," David began, "I am denying nothing. I remember even the words of the oath I swore." "With your hand upon the Bible," Vont interrupted eagerly,--"your hand upon the Book." David shivered. "I am not likely to forget that night," he said. "What I swore we both know. Well? I have begun to keep my word. You know that." "Aye, and to-night you'll finish it!" Vont cried, with uplifted head. "After to-night you'll be quit of your oath, and you can go free of me. I've made it all easy for you. It's all planned out." "I must finish what I have to say," David insisted. "It's been on my mind like lead. He's a ruined man, uncle--beggared to the last penny. I've dishonoured myself, but I've done it--for your sake. Beyond that I cannot go." "You cannot go?" Vont muttered blankly. "I cannot. I don't know what this scheme of yours is, uncle, but leave me out of it. I'm in Hell already!"