ght and shadow dappling floor and wall.
"Well, he would hardly hide here!" said the lieutenant.

"Not by received canons," answered Glenfernie.

The lieutenant spoke to the soldiers. "Go about and look beneath and
behind matters. There are no closets?"

"There are only these presses built against the stone." The laird
opened them as he spoke. "You see--blank space!" He moved toward a
corner. "This structure is my ancient furnace of which I spoke. I
still keep it fuel-filled for firing." As he spoke he opened a sizable
door.

The lieutenant, stooping, saw the piled wood. "I don't know much of
alchemy," he said. "I've never had time to get around to those things.
It's bringing out sleeping values isn't it?"

"Something like that." He shut the furnace door, and they stood
watching the soldiers search the room. In no long time this stood a
completed process.

"Perfunctory!" said again the lieutenant. "Now men, we'll to White
Farm!"

"There is food and drink for them below, on this chilly day," said
the laird, "and perhaps in the hall you'll drink another glass of
wine?"

All went down the stairs and out of the keep. Another half-hour and
the detail, lieutenant and men, mounted and rode away. Glenfernie and
Strickland watched them down the winding road, clear of the hill, out
upon the highway.

Alexander went back alone to the keep that, also, from its widened
loopholes, might watch the searchers ride away. He mounted the stair;
he came into his old room. Ian stood beside the table. The sizable
furnace door hung open, the screen of heaped wood was disarranged.

"It was a good notion, that recess behind my old furnace!" said
Glenfernie. "You took no harm beyond some cobwebs and ashes?"

"None, Senor Nobody," said Ian.

That day went by. The laird and Strickland talked together in low
voices in the old school-room. Davie, too, appeared there once, and an
old, trusted stableman. At sunset came Robin Greenlaw, and stayed an
hour. The stars shone out, around drew a high, windy crystal night.

Mrs. Grizel went to bed. Alexander, with Alice and Strickland, sat by
the fire in the hall. There was much that the laird wished to say that
he said. They spoke in low voices, leaning toward the burning logs,
the light playing over their faces, the light laughing upon old armor,
crossed weapons, upon the walls. Alice, a bonny woman with sense and
courage, sat beside Glenfernie. Strickland, from his corner, saw how
much she