ostracised.

There was little to do now that the stronghold was captured, though, had his influence still been paramount, Neil would have arranged a continuous guard throughout the twenty-four hours. He refrained even from the suggestion, feeling certain that he would only be laying himself open to a rebuff, and a rebuff from Francesca was the equivalent of a knock-out blow.

Each morning after breakfast he rowed across to Meath and carried Rufus the necessities of life and such comforts as he asked for, which were few. The ex-Laird accepted his captivity philosophically, and his only requests were for booksthe ten volumes of Wheatley's edition of 'The Diary Samuel Pepys,' and the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, both of which McNeil obtained from the Dorning House library.

of

Rufus followed his instructions strictly, not coming down to the landing-place until his jailer had landed the stores and pushed off into security; but Neil quickly acquired the habit of hanging upon his oars within hail of the beach, and chatting with his prisoner.

Rufus apparently bore no grudge. He indulged his peculiar dry humour to the full, and prophesied the downfall of his niece with a confidence that his present predicament certainly did not justify. It may have been his own isolation that first aroused McNeil's sympathy; but whatever the cause, he found himself, as the

days went on, extending his parley little by little, until the few casual words developed into long conversations.

Otherwise life in the Big Hoose was exceedingly dull. It was a relief, therefore, when one evening about nine o'clock the Reverend William Murdoch was seen striding up the drive.

The temporary occupants had done themselves well, as they had become accustomed to do in the flush of their triumph. Ronald had engaged extra help for his enlarged housekeeping, and the cooking was excellent. Dinner was over, and coffee and liqueurs were being served by the impenetrable Ronald Aitken in the smoking-room, overlooking the lawn in front of the house. The Signorina Francesca Marinetti and her favourite, the Honourable Thomas Owen, occupied a window-seat of honour, and were the first to notice Murdoch's approach.

"The priest !" announced Francesca. "What can be his object? That hussy, my cousin, must have some new trick to play upon me."

"We must be careful-very careful, Signorina," said Bubbly with an air of great wisdom.

66

'It shall be as you say, Honourable Owen," replied Francesca graciously. "I would be lost without your advice."

A double knock sounded upon the outer door.

Ronald Aitken, who was busy with the coffee-cups, moved to leave the room.

"Do not go, Aitken. must discuss our plans," Francesca ordered.

66

Aw richt, mem, if it's your wull," replied the wrinkled little man submissively.

McNeil moved forward from an obscure seat, where he had been boring himself with an ancient picture-paper.

"Shall I see what he wants?" he asked quietly.

Honourable Owen, what do you think? asked Francesca, with hardly a glance at her fallen minister of state.

"I'll go myself," declared Owen with the air of a hero. "I'll put the door on the chain and talk to him through the crack."

"We've got ideas in common, sir," he went on, without giving Murdoch a chance to declare his errand. There's a little publ-hic-ation called the 'Better Land' that you probably read diligently. The leading feature-the lay sermon --is an idea of my own. I put my soul into that sermon, sir, once a week-once a week," he concluded impressively.

"If your soul is properly reflected in the weak-kneed slosh that I've seen in that tawdry periodical, then may God have mercy upon it," said Murdoch with extreme solemnity. "But I did not come here to discuss the gutterpress with you. I want to know what has become of Miss Rintoul.”

"Reverting to the previous topic, you're perfectly right, perfec❜ly right, my dear sir; but, Lord, how it sells ! It grips them by-"

"Will you tell me what you know of Miss Rintoul's disappearance!" demanded the minister, whose temper was beginning to rise.

McNeil smiled grimly.

"You may take it from me that he had nothing to do with it. I cannot tell you where he is, but I can assure you be is not in a position to kidnap his niece-nor anybody else."

"To search for her without a clue is hopeless," said Murdoch, his brows drawn in perplexity.

"Can we not go round her favourite haunts? I saw her once in Dorning Castle. She might have gone there and twisted her ankle amongst the ruins. We must do something. A word to Signorina Marinetti and I'm with you."

He turned back to the door, where Francesca still stood, yeing him gloomily.

"Signorina, I'm going to help Mr Murdoch search for your cousin," he said, ignoring her expression.

"You ken what I thinkyou are a traitor," replied his mistress with bitter contempt.

I

"Nonsense, Signorina. have got you into the house, and I mean to keep you here. But that's no reason why I should stand aside while this poor girl is in difficulty-perhaps in serious danger."

Francesca laughed bitterly. "Do you think I have no eyes?" she demanded, scorn in her voice. "Do you think

The blood sang hotly in Neil's head, and his tongue was impotent to deny. He stood for a moment irresolute, and then, despairing of a reply, hurried off to join the waiting minister.

It was late when he returned, tired and disappointed. They had called at the manse, and cross-examined Mrs Murdoch as to Jean's favourite habits and haunts, but had learnt little. Then, desperately, they had tramped the surroundings of Dorning, and drawn blank.

Neil had grave doubts as to whether or not he would be admitted to Dorning House on his return, and it was something of a relief to him when the door opened readily to his knock.

"Is't you, Major McNeil ? "

Old Ronald Aitken, candle in hand, peered round the door. Evidently Francesca had issued no orders against Neil's admission.

"Did ye hear aucht o' Miss Jean?" whispered the old man, the lines on his withered face worn deeper with anxiety.

"Not a word-not a trace," replied Neil dejectedly.

e'e, the wee lass," replied old Ronald earnestly. "I wud gi'e a limb tae help the bairn.'F "Ay, and so would I, Mr Aitken, willingly," responded Neil. "But what can we do? It is useless to search further in the dark, when we have no idea what has become of her. I have arranged to see Mr Murdoch in the morning, as soon as I get back from the island."

Ronald sighed deeply, and led the way with his candle to the smoking-room.

"Ye'll ha'e a nicht-cap afore ye gang tae bed, Major McNeil?" he asked. "A wee drap o' hot toddy wud dae ye nae hairm, an' the kettle's on the bile on the hob in ma room."

"A good idea, Mr Aitken," agreed Neil. "May I come to your room and drink it?"

He had had little opportunity of making the old butler's closer acquaintance. Indeed, Ronald had fulfilled his duties in a manner that had not invited conversation. It was only because of Neil's obvious anxiety for his favourite that he now made friendly overtures.

"Come awa' ben."

He led the way to the butler's pantry, and busied himself in the preparation of the toddy.

"I suppose you have no recollection of ever having seen me before, Mr Aitken?" asked Neil, as he accepted the steaming glass from the old man's hand.

"I'm auld, laddie, but ma e'en are gye sharp yet," replied the butler, with a shrewd smile.

"I kent ye as sune as I set ma e'en on ye. Fine I mind when yer gran'faither kept the Rintoul Airms, though ye were juist a wee lad in short breeks. I often wunner whut garred ye mix yersel' up wi' this daft crew."

Neil shrugged his shoulders.

66

66

Daft crew is right," he said bitterly. But needs must, you know, Mr Aitken, and I had no idea, when I committed myself, that I was to serve against Miss Rintoul. But what about you? You are serving us here now without a protest."

"I ha'e nae option. I'm but cairryin' oot the deid Laird's wull, though, Guid kens, it's sair again' ma ain. But I mauna let ma tongue run on aboot that. Ma instructions are tae act fair an' unbiassed, an' clashin' wi' yin o' the interested pairties'll no' dae. It'll no' dae at a'."

The old man's nose and chin snapped together, and the long thin line of his mouth spoke eloquently of his determination to gossip no further.

Neil, seeing that it was impossible to loosen his tongue, hastily swallowed what was left of the scalding drink, bade his host good night, and retired.

He could not sleep for thought of Jean. His mind dwelt upon the most direful possibilities, conjuring up scenes in which Jean lay crippled and hungry in the chill night air in some spot far from human aid. That she might be absent of her free will did not occur to him, or if it did,