was confident that the steward would either bring back the letters,
as soon as he put his hand upon them, or destroy them; for such a thing
was never heard of as an order of Sir Alexander's being disobeyed. She
had thought of a way of sending a note, if the minister could write on a
small piece of paper what would alarm the lady's friends. She had now
and then, at long intervals, a supply from a relation from Dumfries, of
a particular kind of thread which she used to knit into little socks and
mittens for sale. This knitting was now too fine for her eyes: but the
steward did not know this; and he would no doubt take her order, as he
had done before. She believed he would come up to return the letters
quite early in the morning. If she had a ball of thread ready, he would
take it as a pattern: and this ball might contain a little note;--a very
small one indeed, if the minister would write it.

"How would the receiver know there was a note?" asked Mr Ruthven.

"It might be years before the ball was used up," Mrs Ruthven observed:
"or it might come back as it went."

"I thought," said Annie, "that I would give the order in this way. I
would say that I want four pieces of the thread, all exactly the same
length as the one that goes. The steward will set that down in his
book; and he always does what we ask him very carefully. Then my
relation will unwind the ball to see what the length is, and come upon
the note; and then--"

"I see. I see it all," declared Mr Ruthven. "Do not you, my dear?"

"Oh yes; I see. It will be delightful, will it not, Lady Carse?"

"That is as it may be," said Lady Carse. "It is a plan which may work
two ways."

"I do not see how it can work to any mischief," Annie quietly declared.
"I will leave you to consider it. If you think well of the plan, I
shall be found ready with my thread. If the steward returns, it will be
very early, that he may not lose the tide."

As might be expected, Annie's offer was accepted; for even Lady Carse's
prejudiced mind could point out no risk, while the success might be
everything. There was something that touched her feelings in the
patient care with which the widow sat, in the lamplight, winding the
thread over and over the small slip of paper, so as to leave no speck
visible, and to make a tight and secure ball.

The slip of paper contained a request that the reader would let Mr
Hope, advocate, Edinburgh, know that Lady Carse was not dead,