hort work with this, but the
poacher knew better at present than to 'put an enemy in his mouth to steal
away his brains;' besides, the vault would look more natural, when
afterwards 'discovered,' with a collection of old bottles of wine in it.

To forge an entry on one of the fly-leaves of the book was no difficult
task, nor was it difficult to deal with Mawsie so as to secure the end he
had in view in the most natural way. Once again his villain-wit showed its
ascendency. A person of little acumen would have sought to work upon the
old lady's greed--would have tried to bribe her to say this or that, or to
swear to anything. But well Duncan knew how treacherous is the aged
memory, and yet how easily acted on. He began by talking much about the Le
Roi marriage which had taken place when she was a girl. He put words in
the old lady's mouth without seeming to do so; he manufactured an
artificial memory for her, and neatly fitted it.

'Surely, mother,' he would say, 'you remember the marriage that took place
in the chapel at midnight--the rich soldier, you know, Le Roi, and the
bonnie M'Crimman lady? You're not so _very_ old as to forget that.'

'Heigho! it's a long time ago, _ma yhillie og_, a long time ago, and I was
young.'

'True, but old people remember things that happened when they were young
better than more recent events.'

They talked in Gaelic, so I am not giving their exact words.

'Ay, ay, lad--ay, ay! And, now that you mention it, I do remember it
well--the lassie M'Crimman and the bonnie, bonnie gentleman.'

'Gave you a guinea--don't you remember?'

'Ay, ay, the dear man!'

'Is this it?' continued Duncan, holding up a golden coin.

Her eyes gloated over the money, her birdlike claw clutched it; she
'crooned' over it, sang to it, rolled it in a morsel of flannel, and put
it away in her bosom.

A course of this kind of tuition had a wonderful effect on Mawsie. After
the marriage came the vault, and she soon remembered all that. But
probably the guinea had more effect than anything else in fixing her mind
on the supposed events of the past.

You see, Duncan was a psychologist, and a good one, too. Pity he did not
turn his talents to better use.

The poacher's next move was to hurry up to London, and obtain an interview
with the chief of Strathtoul's son. He seldom visited Scotland, being an
officer of the Guards--a soldier, as his grandfather had been.

Is it any wonder that Duncan M'Rae's plausi