sh us gone. Well and good: grant Rowley a
day for recovery, and to-morrow you shall be quit of us." I reached for
my hat.

"Whaur are ye gaun?"

"To seek other lodgings."

"I'll no say--Man, man! have a care! And me beat to close an eye the
nicht!" She dropped into a chair. "Nay, Mr. Ducie, ye daurna! Think o'
that innocent lamb!"

"That little pig."

"He's ower young to die," sobbed my landlady.

"In the abstract I agree with you: but I am not aware that Rowley's
death is required. Say rather that he is ower young to turn King's
evidence." I stepped back from the door. "Mrs. McRankine," I said, "I
believe you to be soft-hearted. I know you to be curious. You will be
pleased to sit perfectly still and listen to me."

And, resuming my seat, I leaned across the corner of the table and put
my case before her without suppression or extenuation. Her breathing
tightened over my sketch of the duel with Goguelat; and again more
sharply as I told of my descent of the rock. Of Alain she said, "I ken
his sort," and of Flora twice, "I'm wonderin' will I have seen her?" For
the rest she heard me out in silence, and rose and walked to the door
without a word. There she turned. "It's a verra queer tale. If McRankine
had told me the like, I'd have gien him the lie to his face."

Two minutes later I heard the vials of her speech unsealed abovestairs,
with detonations that shook the house. I had touched off my rocket, and
the stick descended--on the prostrate Rowley.

And now I must face the inert hours. I sat down, and read my way through
the _Mercury_. "The escaped French soldier, Champdivers, who is wanted
in connection with the recent horrid murder at the Castle, remains at
large--" the rest but repeated the advertisement of Tuesday. "At large!"
I set down the paper and turned to my landlady's library. It consisted
of Derham's "Physico- and Astro-Theology," "The Scripture Doctrine of
Original Sin," by one Taylor, D.D., "The Ready Reckoner or Tradesman's
Sure Guide," and "The Path to the Pit delineated, with Twelve
Engravings on Copper-plate." For distraction I fell to pacing the room,
and rehearsing those remembered tags of Latin verse concerning which M.
de Culemberg had long ago assured me, "My son, we know not when, but
some day they will come back to you with solace if not with charm." Good
man! My feet trod the carpet to Horace's Alcaics. _Virtus recludensim
meritis mori Coelum_--h'm, h'm--_raro_--

_raro antecede