s gone. Her seat was vacant, the bed was
empty; only a gray-bearded man sat by a cold grate. With an overpowering
weight pressing him down, it seemed to Hugh that he threw up his head,
and again he heard his name.

He leaped to his feet. Big beads of cold sweat stood on his forehead.
"Mercy is dead," he whispered with awe. "She has gone to put in her plea
of guilty. She is in God's great hand!"

The next moment a voice shouted, "Mr. Ritson!"

He listened, and in the gray light his stony countenance smiled grimly.

"Mr. Ritson!" once more, followed by the rap of a whip-handle against
the door.

"Tommy the landlord," said Hugh, and he broke into a harsh laugh. "So
you were my angel, Tommy, eh?"

Another harsh laugh. The landlord, sitting in the dog-cart outside,
heard it, and thought to himself, "Some one with him."

Hugh Ritson plunged his head into the wash-basin, and rubbed himself
vigorously with a rough towel. "My last sleep is over," he said,
glancing aside with fearful eyes at the couch. "I'll do this thing that
I am bent upon; but no more sleep, and no more dreams!"

He opened the door, threw a rug up to the landlord, put on an ulster,
and leaped into the dog-cart. They started away at a quick trot. A chill
morning breeze swept down the vale. The sun was rising above Cat Bells,
but Hugh Ritson still felt as if he were traveling toward the deepening
night. He sat with folded arms, and head bent on his breast.

"Hasta heard what happened at auld Laird Fisher's this morning?" said
the landlord.

Hugh answered in a low voice:

"I've heard nothing."

"The lass has followed her barn rather sudden't. Ey, she's gone, for
sure. Died a matter of half an hour ago. I heard it frae the parson as I
coom't by."

Hugh Ritson bent yet lower his drooping head.

CHAPTER XII.

At 2 o'clock that day Hugh Ritson arrived at Euston. He got into a cab
and drove to Whitehall. At the Home Office he asked for the Secretary of
State. A hundred obstacles arose to prevent him from penetrating to the
head of the department. One official handed him over to another, the
second to a third, the third to a fourth.

Hugh Ritson was hardly the man to be balked by such impediments. His
business was with the Secretary of State, and none other. Parliament was
in session, and the Home Secretary was at the afternoon sitting of the
House. Hugh Ritson sought and found him there. He explained his purpose
in few words, and was liste