he stair-head, were all the necessaries for a noble blaze--dry
wood properly cut, tow, tar, and a firkin of spirit, with some rancid
butter in a brown jar. There was even a little kindling box of foreign
make, all complete with flint, steel and tinder lying on a shelf,
enclosed in a small bag of felt.

Whoever had placed these things there was a person of no small
experience, and left nothing to chance. It was obvious that such a
beacon lit on the tower of the ancient house of Marnhoul would be seen
far and near over the country.

Who should come to our rescue, supposing us to be beset, was not so
clear. I did not believe that we could depend on the people of the
village. They would, if I knew them, cuddle the closer between their
blankets, while as for Constable Jacky, by that time of night he would
certainly be in no condition to know his right hand from his left.

"And the message fixed to the front door with the knife--of which my
sister told me," I suggested to Miss Irma, "what did it threaten?"

For in spite of her obvious reluctance to tell me even necessary
things, I was resolved to make her speak out. She hesitated, but finally
yielded, when I pointed out that we must decide whether it came from a
friendly or an unfriendly hand.

She handed it to me out of the pocket of her dress, the two of us
standing all the while on the top of the tower, the rusty basket
wheezing in the wind, and her blown hair whipping my cheek in the sharp
breeze from the north.

I may say that just at that moment I was pretty content with myself. I
do not deny that I had fancied this maid and that before, or that some
few things that might almost be called tender had passed between me and
Gerty Greensleeves, chiefly cuffing and pinching of the amicable
Scottish sort. Only I knew for certain that now I was finally and
irrevocably in love--but it was with a star. Or rather, it might just as
well have been, for any hope I had with Miss Irma Maitland, with her
ancient family and her eyes fairly snapping with pride. What could she
ever have to say to the rather stupid son of a village school-master?

But I took the paper, and for an instant Irma's eyes rested on mine with
something different in them from anything I had ever seen there before.
The contemptuous chill was gone. There was even a kind of soft appeal,
which, however, she retracted and even seemed to excuse the next moment.

"Understand," she said, "it is not for myself that