the debt, while the whimsical look on Ormond's face
aided in stirring me, for we had democratic notions in that part of
Lancashire.

"Ralph Lorimer, assistant cashier in the Orb Mill," I said. "It was a
slight service, and I did not consider the shortest way best;" while
before the Colonel could answer I raised my hat to Grace, and, taking
Robert the Devil's head, turned him sharply around. Still, as I climbed
into the dog-cart I saw that the burly master of Starcross House was
chuckling at something, and I drove away feeling strangely satisfied with
myself, until I began to wonder whether after all to walk twice off the
field defiantly before the enemy was not another form of cowardice. Alice
met me on the threshold--for she heard the wheels--with a query as to why
the Satanic Robert was in such a state; but for several reasons I did not
fully enlighten her.

My uncle did not return that night, and I left for town the next morning.
In the afternoon I sought an interview with him in his private office. It
was with some trepidation that I entered, because Martin Lorimer was frank
of speech and quick in temper, and I knew he was then busy with the
details of a scheme that might double the output of his mill. He thrust
the papers away and leaned forward on his desk, a characteristic specimen
of his race, square in jaw and shoulder, with keenness and power stamped
on his wrinkled face.

"Well, Ralph, what is it now?" he asked. "Johnson of Starcross has been
telling me some tale about your running away with an heiress and giving
his answer to Colonel Carrington. I'm not altogether sorry. I do not like
that man. There is also a reason why he doesn't like me."

"It has nothing to do with that, sir," I answered awkwardly. "You know I
have never asked questions about the family money; and you have been very
kind to me. But the fact is I can't stand the mill, and I'm thinking of
asking for whatever remains of my share and going out to Canada."

Martin Lorimer smote the desk suddenly with his fist, and there was angry
bewilderment in his eyes.

"Hast gone mad altogether, lad?" he asked.

I met his gaze steadily. "No," I answered. "I can't help longing for a
life in the open air; and there is room in Canada for poor people like
me."

Then, thrusting his square jaw forward, he said: "Thy father left four
hundred pounds in all. It is now five, under my stewardship. Shall I ask
the cashier to make out a statement? Thy father