e should tell Willy everything.
This was to be when her father or Robbie or both returned, and the
crown of her success was upon her. But what now was the word to say?

The noise of wheels approaching startled the girl out of her troubled
dream. Willy was coming home. In another minute he was in the house.

"Rotha, Rotha," he cried excitedly, "I've great news, great news."

"What news?" asked Rotha, not daring to look up.

"Great news," repeated Willy.

Lifting her eyes furtively to his face, Rotha saw that, like his
voice, it was brimming over with delight.

"The bloodhounds are gone," he said, and, throwing off his cloak and
leggings, he embraced the girl and kissed her and laughed the laugh of
a happy man. Then he hurried out to see to his horse.

What was Rotha to do? What was she to say? This mistake of Willy's
made her position not less than terrible. How was she to tell him that
his joyousness was misplaced? If he had come to her with a sad face
she might then have told him all--yes, all the cruel truth! If he had
come to her with reproaches on his tongue, how easily she might have
unburdened her heavy heart! But this laughter and these kisses worked
like madness in her brain.

The minutes flew like thought, and Willy was back in the house.

"I thought they dare not do it. You'll remember I told them so. Ah!
ah! they find I was in the right."

Willy was too much excited with his own reading of this latest
incident to sit in one seat for two minutes together. He walked up and
down the room, laughing sometimes, and sometimes pausing to pat his
mother's head.

It was fortunate for Rotha that she had to busy herself with the
preparations for Willy's supper, and that this duty rendered less
urgent the necessity for immediate response to his remarks. Willy, on
his part, was in no mood at present to indulge in niceties of
observation, and Rotha's perturbation passed for some time unnoticed.

"Ralph will be back with us soon, let us hope," he said. "There's no
doubt but we do miss him, do we not?"

"Yes," Rotha answered, leaning as much as possible over the fire that
she was mending.

The tone of the reply made an impression on Willy. In a moment more he
appeared to realize that there, had throughout been something unusual
in the girl's demeanor.

"Not well, Rotha?" he asked in a subdued tone. It had flashed across
his mind that perhaps her father was once more in some way the cause
of her trouble.