ust to think of it! Just to
think! That _my_ father----"

"Don't forget he's dead, Ross, and beyond all chance of your
remonstrating with him, and that the dead cannot speak up for
themselves!" cried Maud Duggan, in a wrung voice. "Don't say anything
you will be sorry for, I beg of you! Mr. Cleek, this has come as
something in the nature of a shock to my brother and me, and--and it's
going to take some time to let this part of your story sink in. It seems
dreadful that one's own father...."

"And yet there are many who have done worse--far worse," threw in Cleek,
with uplifted hand, as she paused and looked at him out of anguished
eyes. "Youth must learn to forgive, Miss Duggan. That is a lesson which
both you and your brother have got to learn, and don't forget, will you,
in the learning, that this thing took place more than seventeen years
ago--before your father was married to his present wife. Raking up dead
ashes is a poor sort of game, and an unprofitable one. I would never
have spoken only that therein lay the motive of James Tavish's crime,
and for seventeen long years he has worked for it. The unutterable
patience of the man! the appalling sense of revenge! For at the end of
that time his bitterness to the man who had wronged his sister was even
greater than when the thing itself took place. How long has he been in
your father's employ?"

"Twelve years."

"And I take it he was well known locally before that?"

"The family was certainly an old local one, Mr. Cleek, and, in fact, I
have heard the story go that they were descendants of the original
Peasant Girl on her mother's side."

"Oho! Well, that may or may not be. Vendettas are not only carried out
in southern climes, Miss Duggan. I've learned that lesson to my cost
many times since I took up this profession. And the Scotch temperament
is a dour one, and not forgiving. A grudge is a grudge, even if it lasts
through several centuries--and who knows but that this belief lent
colour to his hatred of your father? At any rate, whether it is true or
not, James Tavish killed Sir Andrew because he was the betrayer of his
sister--and took seventeen years to bring his vengeance to full
maturity. Gad! what a character to bear! It makes one's blood run
cold!... Constables, I think you may remove your prisoner now to the
nearest lock-up. We've done with him for the present, thanks."

So saying, he waved his hand toward the door, opened it, and waited
until the l