During breakfast next morning at the Castle the two Conseltines, father and son, who were usually punctual in their appearance at meal hours, descended late. They were pale and quiet; and Richard, who had his nerves very much less under control than had his astute and resolute parent, was so obviously ill at ease as to bring down upon himself the notice and comments of his lordship. The old nobleman, sick of the seclusion of his solitary chamber, had appeared at the breakfast table, in hopes that a little cheerful society might aid in dissipating the unwelcome reflections which, since Desmond’s departure from the Castle, had beset his waking hours and broken his nightly rest. At no time gifted with the most equable temper in the world, he was particularly snappish and irritable that morning.

‘Your lordship will no’ hae heard the news, I’m thinking,’ said Peebles, standing at the sideboard and breaking in upon the uneasy silence. His eyes dwelt, as if by accident, upon Richard Consel-tine’s face as he spoke, and the young man’s pale complexion assumed a greenish hue.

‘What news are you talking about?’ asked Kilpatrick.

‘There was a fire last night,’ answered Peebles.

Richard, conscious of his father’s coldly threatening eye, spilled half the contents of the glass of brandy-and-soda by which he had that morning replaced the soberer beverages usually in demand at the breakfast table, and conveyed the remainder to his lips with a shaking hand.

‘A fire! Where?’ asked Kilpatrick.

‘At the old mill up by the burn,’ said Peebles. ‘’Twas burned to the ground, I’m told, and there’s some talk of an old peasant woman, a gangrel strange body that they had gien shelter to, having been burned wi’ it.’

‘God bless my soul!’ murmured his lordship. ‘Has the body been found?’

Richard emitted an involuntary gasp, and clung with his feet to the leg of the table.

‘No,’ returned Peebles, ‘not yet. There’s just the chance it never may be. A good part o’ the blazing timbers fell into the burn and were carried awa’, and it’s like eneuch the body went wi’ them—or maybe they’ll come upon it digging among the ruins.’

‘Who was the woman?’ asked Dulcie,

‘Does anybody know her?’

‘Nobody that I ken o’,’ returned Peebles, with an immovable face. ‘A bit tramp body.’

‘Deuced odd,’ said Kilpatrick. ‘How could a place like that, miles away from anywhere, catch fire? Is there any suspicion of arson?’

‘’Deed,’ said Peebles, ‘I don’t know why there should be. Who is there that wad do siccan mischief? To be sure,’ he added, with a reflective air, ‘the woman might have enemies. Those tramps are a waesome lot to deal wi’—but it’s most likely that she did it hersel’ by accident, poor thing. We’ll just hope so, for the sake o’ human charity—till we get further information, anyway.’ He looked at Richard again as he spoke the last words, and had some difficulty in repressing any sign of the angry scorn he felt at sight of the young man’s livid face. ‘It’s hard on Larry, dacent lad,’ he continued.

‘I’m thinking that your lordship might do worse than start a subscription for him.’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Kilpatrick.

‘I’ll give five pounds. You have my leave, Peebles, to say so, and to ask for subscriptions in my name.’

‘I’ll give five,’ said Dulcie.

‘I shall be glad to follow so good an example,’ said Conseltine. He strove hard to speak in his usual smooth fashion, but his voice sounded harsh and unsteady to his own ears. He gave Richard an angrily prompting look, and the boy tried to speak, but his tongue rattled against the roof of his mouth. ‘I thought you would,’ said Conseltine, quickly interpreting the inarticulate sound issuing from his son’s throat as an expression of charitable sympathy. ‘Put Richard and myself down for ten pounds, if you please, Mr. Peebles.’

‘I thank ye, Lady Dulcie and gentlemen,’ said Peebles. ‘It’s good to hae feeling hearts, and the means of proving that ye hae them. I’ll let ye know any later news—if the body’s found, or anything o’ that kind.’

‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’ his lordship asked of Richard, with sudden acerbity. Richard was as white as death, and shivering like a leaf.

‘It’s the heat, or—or something,’ he managed to stammer out.

‘Let me help you to your room, my boy,’ said his father.

He rose, and supported Richard from the table, hiding as well as he could his pitiable condition.

‘You cowardly fool!’ he hissed in his ear, when he had got him to his own chamber and locked the door. ‘Do you want to ruin us? What are ye afraid of, ye shaking poltroon?’

‘He knows!’ gasped Richard; ‘I could see it in his eye; he knows.’

‘Knows!’ echoed Conseltine scornfully.

‘What does he know?’

‘He knows that the woman at the mill was Moya Macartney.’

‘And if he does,’ said Conseltine, ‘what then? What can he prove?’

‘He knows more than that, I’ll swear!’ cried Richard. ‘I saw him look at me. He knows enough to hang us.’

‘Hang us!’ repeated the elder. ‘By the saints, I’ve a mind to save the hangman half his work, you white-livered, croaking coward!’

‘If he doesn’t know, Blake does,’ said Richard.

‘Leave Blake to me,’ said his father.

‘I’ll look after Blake. ’Twill be a question of money; he’ll bleed us pretty freely, I expect; but if he opens his mouth too wide I’ll bluff him, and swear he dreamt it. ’Tis two against one, any way; two men of good position and unblemished record against one drunken vagabond.

They can prove nothing, let them talk as they may. Feagus will hold his tongue for his own sake, for if the case comes before the court there are three to swear that he suggested the business. There’s no danger at all, except from your cursed cowardice. Pull yourself together, and trust to me. They can prove no motive. Why should you and I go burning mills and killing old peasant women? Feagus is the only creature alive who knows that we were aware of Moya’s identity. Keep a cool head, and you’ll be Lord Kilpatrick before long.’

The task which Peebles had undertaken was no easy one, and the more he contemplated it, the more difficult it seemed to grow. He racked his brains over the problem of how to make known to one in so precarious a condition of health as Lord Kilpatrick the secret of Moya’s continued existence, and of her presence in the neighbourhood. The difficulty was complicated by the cowardly and criminal attempt on her life by two members of his lordship’s family, for the honour of which the faithful old servant was deeply concerned. That two such scoundrels should still be permitted to prey on the kindness of his master, and diminish Desmond’s patrimony, was intolerable; that they should be publicly charged with their crime was impossible. Feagus, too, was in the same boat, and must also be permitted to escape, for it was impossible to denounce him without bringing the crime of the Conseltines to light. But, then, there was the chance—the strong chance—of the gossip of the countryside bringing to their ears the knowledge of Moya’s continued existence, and what three such scoundrels might do to cover their unsuccessful attempt, and to secure their endangered booty, it was hard to say.

The need for decisive action was pressing, but in what direction was that action to be taken? One course, and one course only, seemed to Peebles clear for the moment. It was in his power to secure Moya’s safety from any further attempt. That could be done by simply telling the two villains now in the house that their nefarious proceeding of the night before was known. Once resolved, Peebles was as bold a man as any that ever trod shoe-leather; and with such a weapon as was furnished by his hold over the two Conseltines he would have faced an army. His resolution taken, he walked with an assured foot upstairs to Richard’s bedroom, and knocked at the door; it was opened by the elder man.

‘I’d like a word with you, if you please, Mr. Conseltine,’ he said.

‘Presently, Mr. Peebles, presently,’ said the other, who did not care to expose his son and confederate to the old man’s keen eye in his present pitiful condition of nervous excitement. ‘We have business of importance together.’

‘It must be business o’ very great importance,’ said Peebles, ‘if it can’t wait till mine is finished.’

Conseltine’s hard eye dwelt on the old man’s face, and his lips twitched in a hopeless attempt to maintain their impassivity.

‘You are importunate, my old friend,’ he said.

‘Ye’d better listen to me,’ returned the grim old servitor.

Conseltine stood aside to allow him to enter, and closed and locked the door behind him. Richard was seated on the bed. He made a terrible and clumsy effort to seem at ease as Peebles’ gaze passed lightly over him before it settled again on his father.

‘Well, sir?’ said Conseltine as calmly as he could.

‘Before making the communication I hae to make,’ said Peebles, his usual slow and deliberate drawl more slow and deliberate than ever, ‘I hae to tell ye that, but for the honour o’ the house I’ve served man and boy for five-and-forty years, I should have conseedered it my duty as a good citizen to hand you and your son, Mr. Richard Conseltine, here present, into the hands o’ justice.’

Neither of the persons he addressed making any reply to this preamble, Peebles continued:

‘When Larry’s mill was burned down last night, the woman once known as Moya Macartney, best known to you and me, Mr. Conseltine, as Lady Kilpatrick, was leeving there.’

That Conseltine knew of Moya’s claim to the title Peebles gave her was only a shrewd guess of the latter’s, but the start and pallor with which Conseltine heard the words showed the old man that the shaft had struck home.

‘The mill,’ continued Peebles, ‘was fired by you and your son there, in complicity wi’ one Feagus, the lawyer, wi’ the object of destroying the unfortunate lady, your brother’s wife.’

Richard gave a sort of feeble gulp at this, and cowered terror-stricken on the bed.

‘It’s by no virtue o’ yours, Mr. Conseltine, that your wicked will was not worked. Moya Macartney, Lady Kilpatrick, is alive and safe. She was rescued from death by her son, Desmond Conseltine, sole lawfully begotten son and heir of my master, Lord Kilpatrick.’

‘Damn you!’ cried Richard, leaping from the bed at these words with a flash of hysteric anger conquering his fears.

‘You come and tell us this! Father——!’

‘Hold your tongue!’ said the elder man quietly. ‘Don’t play the fool, Richard Conseltine.’

Peebles looked at him with a kind of loathing admiration of his courage and coolness.

‘If you’ve any more to say, Mr. Peebles,’ Conseltine continued, ‘you’d better get it over.’

‘Just this,’ said the old man: ‘ye’ll hold your tongue about the business till I see fit to speak. Ye’ll cease to trade on his lordship’s generosity, and rob the poor lad ye’ve kept out of his rights all these years, and the poor woman ye’ve tried to murder. And if in a day or two ye can manage to find some business o’ sufficient importance to tak’ ye awa’ oot o’ this place, and to keep ye awa’ oot o’t for the rest o’ your natural lives, so much the better. I don’t think,’ he added reflectively, as he scraped his lean jaws thoughtfully with his long fingers—‘I don’t think there’s any ither thing to be arranged. Ye’d better keep clear o’ Blake, perhaps.’

‘One word, Mr. Peebles,’ said Conseltine, as the old man turned to go.

‘When do you intend to break to my brother the news of—of that woman being alive?’

‘I canna preceesely tell ye,’ returned Peebles. ‘As soon’s I think he’s strong enough to hear it. In the mean time, Mr. Conseltine, ye’d best ca’ cannie. I’m secret in the game till ye try another move; but if ye do, I’ll split on ye, as sure as God’s in heaven!’