t the door.

"Tell your husband I wish to see him," he said.

The landlady looked up, fumbled with a napkin, and answered nervously,
"Yes, sir." Then she hobbled to the door of the parlor and opened it. A
wave of mingled noise, vapor, and foul odors came through the aperture.
"Tommy!" she screamed above the babel.

The landlord appeared.

"Can you send me a dog-cart at half past four in the morning?" said
Hugh.

"Maybe--it's a gay canny hour, I reckon," said the landlord.

He pulled at a long pipe as he spoke, and his face, which was flushed,
wore an impudent smile.

"I have to catch the five-o'clock train," Hugh answered.

"To London?" One cheek was twisted into numerous wrinkles.

"I said the five train," said Hugh, sternly. "Can you do it?"

"I's niver said nay--it'll be three half-crowns."

Hugh put half a sovereign on the counter.

"Let it be sent at half past four promptly.

"To the Ghyll?"

The twist of the cheek was a shade less perceptible.

"To the pit-brow."

The parlor door opened again, and Natt stood on the threshold. The
stableman's sleepy eyes awakened to a knowing twinkle. Then his flat
face disappeared, and a thin titter mingled audibly with the clamor
within. In another moment the door was thrown wide open, and Drayton
came slouching out. His hair fell back over his forehead, from which his
hat was tipped back. A cigar was perched between his teeth; the tips of
his fingers were thrust into his waistcoat pockets.

"Come in; I've summat to show you," he said.

Hugh did not stir, but he lifted his head and looked into the room. Half
a score of the riff-raff of the dale were seated amid clouds of smoke.
On the wooden mantel-shelf above the wide ingle a large book stood
open, and the leaves fluttered with the wind that came through the door.

"I hain't forgotten what you said long ago about the parson's book,"
said Drayton, "so here it is, and a mighty valuable thing I call it. You
thought to frighten me with it, but bless yer soul, I like it, I do.
Listen."

Drayton stepped back into the room, turned the leaves, and began to read
in a lusty tone:

"1847.--November 18.--Thomas said Allan was fresh from Scotland,
being Scottish born, and that his wife was Irish, and that they had a
child called Paul, only a few months old, and not yet walking."

It was the parson's diary.

"That's good enough, ain't it, Master Hugh Ritson?" said Drayton, with
an ungainly bow, and a vas