ontinued the uncompromising old man. "I'm
fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it."

At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
whistle.

"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on
him. "Ah, noo I see."

* * * * *

The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.

Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
trial, conviction, and the things that followed.

Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his
son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The
story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source,
might well have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it
served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever
cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could
not or would not allay her gnawing apprehension.

Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on
an afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled
with palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the
Wastrel.

The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round.
It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was
glad.

"Comin' wi' me, lad?" she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
have that gray protector with her.

Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom.
Down the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her
way from stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed;
and scrambled up the opposite bank.

At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was
winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottage