he watter--there, that's enough--plenty o' butter
wad sto a dog. Sista, he's coming tul't fast."

Paul Ritson had opened his eyes.

"Slip away for mair watter, lass--there, that's summat like--rest ye, my
lad--a drink?--ey, a sup o' watter."

Paul looked around him. His filmy eyes were full of questions. But at
first his tongue would not speak. He looked up at the bare skylight and
around at the bleached walls, and then back into the face of the
peddler. He noticed Mercy, and smiled.

"Where are we, my girl?" he said, faintly.

"This is the Hawk and Heron," she answered.

"How do I come to be here?" he asked.

Mercy covered her face, and sobbed.

"I brought you," she said, at length.

Paul looked at her a moment with bewildered eyes. Then the tide of
memory flowed back upon his mind.

"I remember," he said, quietly; "I was feeling dizzy--hadn't slept two
nights--not even been in bed--walked the streets the long hours
through."

Everything had rushed over him in a moment, and he closed his eyes with
a deep groan. At his feet Mercy buried her face and sobbed aloud.

Paul drew himself feebly up on his elbow.

"Where is Parson Christian?" he asked, and gazed around, with a faint
smile.

The girl's anguish overflowed.

"That was a lie I told you," she sobbed.

The smile fled away.

"A lie! Why a lie?"

He was struggling with a dazed sense.

"I told you that Parson Christian was here and wanted you. He is not
here."

And Mercy's weeping seemed to choke her.

"My good girl, and why?"

"They brought you to this room and left you, and now they are gone."

"They! Who?"

"Your brother Hugh and Mr. Drayton."

Paul looked deadly sick at heart.

"Who is this Drayton?"

"The spitten picter of yourself, my lad," said Gubblum; "the man I telt
ye of lang ago--him as keeps this house."

Paul's eyes wandered vacantly. His nervous fingers twitched at the
ulster that he wore.

"What's this?" he said, and glanced down at his altered dress.

"When you were insensible they stripped you of your clothes and put
others on you," said Mercy.

"Whose clothes are these?"

"Mr. Drayton's."

Paul Ritson rose to his feet.

"Where are the men?" he said, in a husky voice.

"Gone."

"Where?"

"To the station--that was all I heard."

Paul gazed about with hazy eyes. Mercy flung herself at his feet and
wept bitterly.

"Forgive me! oh, forgive me!"

He looked down at her with a confused expression. His