said Käthchen, in an indifferent sort of fashion—and she began to gather up some samples of homespun that were strewn on the table—"he says he is going out to Heimra at once. He has sent for Big Archie. He says—he says—that he is glad if he has rendered you any little service—but you are not to think of it."

Mary's eyes had grown full of wonder. For out of these windows she could plainly see that he was still waiting on the beach: the fact being that the boy Alan had failed to find Big Archie at the inn, and had gone off to seek him throughout the cottages.

"But did you tell Mr. Ross that I wished to speak with him?" she asked.

"I said that you most particularly wished to speak with him."

"Yes—and then?"

"Then he—he begged to be excused," said Käthchen, bluntly.

Mary turned sharply away from the window, and for a second or two she was silent.

"Why did you say 'most particularly'? What right had you to give him any such message?" she demanded, with something of a cold and dignified air, but not looking towards Käthchen.

"Those were your very words, Mamie!" Käthchen protested.

"I may have said something like that—in the hurry of calling to you," Mary said, with flushed face. "But you ought to have known. You might have known it was not a message I wanted given to anyone—not to anyone. However, it is of little consequence." She advanced to the table—her head somewhat erect. "I suppose," she said, in a matter-of-fact way, "you will be writing about those samples to the Frasers, in Inverness?"

"Yes, Mamie—you told me to."

"Very well," she continued, still with that air of unconcern; "you might say to them at the same time that we can get patchwork quilts made for them at from ten to twelve shillings the piece, if they send us the materials. That is the price I promised to the women here. And if they prefer the stockings made longer, I will have them made longer; only they must give me a little more for them—there is so much more wool and so much more work."

She glanced furtively over her shoulder: it was only now that Big Archie had made his appearance—coming down the beach to the spot at which young Ross was idly walking about.

"Käthchen," she said of a sudden, with something of piteous vexation in her tone, "are you certain you said 'most particularly'?—are you quite certain?—I—I did not mean it—I was in a hurry—you did not say 'most particularly,' did you? At the same time," she went on, with an abrupt affectation of carelessness, "it is of very little consequence—no consequence whatever: the only thing is that the Highlanders appear to have odd manners—and that again, as I say, is a matter of perfect indifference. Don't forget to mention the patchwork quilts and the stockings."

But Kate Glendinning rose and went to the window. By this time Donald Ross, Big Archie, and the young lad were all in the dinghy, on their way out to the lugger.

"There is something strange, Mamie," Käthchen said, thoughtfully. "I cannot imagine what made him refuse to come along to this house—and refuse with such embarrassment. And these are not Highland manners at all. But sometimes a Highlander is too proud to speak."

They were soon to learn what all this meant. When the two young men returned from their afternoon expedition, it appeared that they had got thirteen and a half brace of grouse, and a few odds and ends—a very fair bag, considering the size of the moor and the length of time they had been out. But it was not the success of the shooting that caused Fred Stanley to come into the drawing-room with something of a gay and triumphant air.

"Well, we have caught your poaching friend at last," he said to his sister, "and I think we have sent him home with a flea in his ear. I knew we should corner him sooner or later, in spite of his cunning. And a very pretty trick it was—to plan this insurrectionary meeting for the Twelfth, so that we should be kept away from the hill, keepers and all. But it didn't work, you see; for we lost no time in getting up to the Corrie Bhreag, and there he was, sure enough. And very little he had to say for himself—not a word!—but I had something to say to him; and I don't think we shall be troubled with his presence about Lochgarra for some little time to come."

"Are you speaking of Mr. Ross?" said Mary, with a certain calmness of manner that did not quite conceal her alarm.

"I should think I was!"

"And what did you find him doing?"

"I found him on the moor—where he had no right to be; and if the rest of the gang managed to hide themselves or to get safe away, well, I did not care much about that; he was there to answer for them; and so we had it out. Yes, I may say we had it out."

Mary turned to Frank Meredyth.

"Mr. Meredyth, what is all this about? What happened? Did you find Mr. Ross shooting on the moor?"

"Well, no," said Meredyth, with something of disquiet, for he was now placed in a most unenviable position. "The fact is, it would be difficult to bring any definite charge against him; for he was coming down from the direction of the Glen Orme forest, and when we first saw him he was following an old hill-path that everybody has the right to use—so he says. No, he wasn't shooting—not then, certainly; nor did we see any one with him: but as regards Fred's suspicions—well, you know, I have said before, that when you imagine there is poaching going on, you see it in every circumstance."

"What was he doing up there at all?" the younger man broke in. "Why, he had no defence to make. He had not a word to say for himself. It's all very well to be high and mighty: you won't account for your actions to any body—no, of course not, when you can't without convicting yourself!"

"I suppose he had a gun with him?" said she, still addressing Frank Meredyth.

"Well, no; he had not," Meredyth confessed, looking somewhat anxious and disconcerted.

"A game-bag, at least? and a dog?" she went on; "or something that entitled you to suspect him?"

"Oh, no, not at all. The truth is, he was simply coming down the strath, and he had nothing under his arm but a walking-stick."

"Oh, indeed," said she; and she drew herself up a little proudly. "Very well. You meet a stranger—no, not a stranger—but one of my friends, whom you have seen under my roof, and he is walking along a public footpath carrying a stick in his hand. Well, and then? I want to know what happens then?"

Meredyth was grievously embarrassed.

"I am afraid there were a few hard words said—and—and I must say for Mr. Ross that he showed great forbearance and self-control. Yes, I must admit that; and also that Fred was rather too—too outspoken. I must say I rather admired Mr. Ross because of his composure; for, indeed, I thought at one time—well, it was a very awkward meeting. When there is bad blood, you see—when one suspects poaching—everything points that way."

"Oh, I am responsible for everything that occurred!" Fred Stanley broke in again, impetuously. "Meredyth had nothing to do