per-makers, news-vendors,
and the like, bleeze together in the pit o' Tophet!" With this devout
aspiration--internally felt, not openly uttered--Bishopriggs put on his
spectacles, and read the passage pointed out to him. "I see naething
here touching the name o' Sawmuel Bishopriggs, or the matter o' ony loss
ye may or may not ha' had at Craig Fernie," he said, when he had done;
still defending his position, with a resolution worthy of a better
cause.

Anne's pride recoiled at the prospect of prolonging the discussion with
him. She rose to her feet, and said her last words.

"I have learned enough by this time," she answered, "to know that the
one argument that prevails with you is the argument of money. If money
will spare me the hateful necessity of disputing with you--poor as I
am, money you shall have. Be silent, if you please. You are personally
interested in what I have to say next."

She opened her purse, and took a five-pound note from it.

"If you choose to own the truth, and produce the letter," she resumed,
"I will give you this, as your reward for finding, and restoring to me,
something that I had lost. If you persist in your present prevarication,
I can, and will, make that sheet of note-paper you have stolen from me
nothing but waste paper in your hands. You have threatened Mrs. Glenarm
with my interference. Suppose I go to Mrs. Glenarm? Suppose I interfere
before the week is out? Suppose I have other letters of Mr. Delamayn's
in my possession, and produce them to speak for me? What has Mrs.
Glenarm to purchase of you _then?_ Answer me that!"

The color rose on her pale face. Her eyes, dim and weary when
she entered the room, looked him brightly through and through in
immeasurable contempt. "Answer me that!" she repeated, with a burst
of her old energy which revealed the fire and passion of the woman's
nature, not quenched even yet!

If Bishopriggs had a merit, it was a rare merit, as men go, of
knowing when he was beaten. If he had an accomplishment, it was the
accomplishment of retiring defeated, with all the honors of war.

"Mercy presairve us!" he exclaimed, in the most innocent manner. "Is it
even You Yersel' that writ the letter to the man ca'ed Jaffray Delamayn,
and got the wee bit answer in pencil on the blank page? Hoo, in Heeven's
name, was I to know _that_ was the letter ye were after when ye cam' in
here? Did ye ever tell me ye were Anne Silvester, at the hottle? Never
ance! Was the puir