stence to see justice and right done to my dear old
pupil Murdoch, and I think I begin to see land.'

'Yes?'

'I believe I do. I waited and watched untiringly. Good Gilmore, who still
lives in Coila, watched for me too. I knew one thing was certain--namely,
that the ex-poacher Duncan M'Rae would turn up again at the castle. He
did. He went to beg money from the M'Rae. The M'Rae is a man of the world;
he saw that this visit of Duncan's was but the beginning of a never-ending
persecution. He refused Duncan's request point-blank. Then the man changed
flank and breathed dark threatenings. The M'Rae, he hinted, had better not
make him (Duncan) his enemy. He (M'Rae) was obliged to him for the house
and position he occupied, but the same hand that _did_ could _undo_. At
this juncture the M'Rae had simply rung the bell, and the ex-poacher had
to retire foiled, but threatening still. It was on that same day I
confronted him and told him all I knew. Then I showed him the spurious
ring, which, as I placed it on my finger, even he could not tell from the
original. Even this did not overawe him, but when I ventured a guess that
this very ring had belonged to a dead man, and pretended I knew more than
I did, he turned pale. He was silent for a time--thinking, I suppose. Then
he put a question which staggered me with its very coolness, and,
clergyman though I am, I felt inclined at that moment to throttle the man
where he stood. Would we pay him handsomely for turning king's evidence on
himself and confessing the whole was a conspiracy, and would we save him
from the legal penalty of the confessed crime?

'I assure you, Mrs. M'Crimman, that till then I had leaned towards the
belief that, scoundrel though this Duncan be, some little spark of
humanity remained in his nature, and that he might be inclined to do
justice for justice's sake. I dare say he read my answer in my eyes, and
he judged too that for the time being I was powerless to act. Could he
have killed me then, I know he would have done so. Once more he was silent
for a time. He did not dare to repeat his first question, but he put
another, "Have you any charge to make against me about _anything_?" He
placed a terribly-meaning emphasis on that word "anything." I looked at
him. I was wondering whether he really had had anything to do with the
death of old Mawsie, and if the ring of which I had the facsimile on my
finger had in reality belonged to a murdered man. Seeing me hes