ble story found a ready
listener in young Le Roi, or that he was only too happy to pay the poacher
a large but reasonable sum for proofs which should place his father in
possession of fortune and a fine estate?

The rest was easy. A large coloured sketch was shown to old Mawsie as a
portrait of the Le Roi who had been married in the old chapel in her
girlhood. It was that of his grandson, who shortly after visited the manse
and the ruin.

Duncan was successful beyond his utmost expectations. Only 'the wicked
flee when no man pursueth' them, and this villain could not feel easy
while he remained at home. Two things preyed on his mind--first, the
meeting with myself at the ruin; secondly, the loss of his ring. Probably
had the two men not interfered that night he would have made short work of
me. As for the ring, he blamed his own carelessness for losing it. It was
a dead man's ring; would it bring him ill-luck?

So he fled--or departed--put it as you please; but, singular to say, old
Mawsie was found dead in her house the day _after_ he had been seen to
take his departure from the glen. It was said she had met her death by
premeditated violence; but who could have slain the poor old crone, and
for what reason? It was more charitable and more reasonable to believe
that she had fallen and died where she was found. So the matter had been
allowed to rest. What could it matter to Mawsie?

Townley alone had different and less charitable views about the matter.
Meanwhile Townley's bird had flown. But everything comes to him who can
wait, and--there was no tiring Townley.

* * * * *

A year or two flew by quickly enough. I know what that year or two did for
me--_it made me a man!_

Not so much in stature, perhaps--I was young, barely seventeen--but a man
in mind, in desire, in ambition, and in brave resolve. Do not imagine that
I had been very happy since leaving Coila; my mind was racked by a
thousand conflicting thoughts that often kept me awake at night when all
others were sunk in slumber. Something told me that the doings of that
night at the ruin had undone our fortunes, and I was bound by solemn
promise never to divulge what I had seen or what I knew. A hundred times
over I tried to force myself to the belief that the poacher was only a
poacher, and not a villain of deeper dye, but all in vain.

Time, however, is the _edax rerum_--the devourer of all things, even of
grie