in
any single particular, all may be lost."

"I'll let nothing interfere. But what of Willy? What if he object?

"Tell him these are my wishes--he'll yield to that."

There was a moment's silence.

"Robbie, that was a noble resolve you told me of; and you can keep it,
can you not?"

"I can--God help me."

"Keep it the day after to-morrow--you remember our customs, sometimes
more honored, you know, in the breach than the observance--you can
hold to your resolve that day; you _must_ hold to it, for everything
hangs on it. It is a terrible hazard."

Robbie put his hand in Ralph's, and the two stalwart dalesmen looked
steadily each into the other's face. There was a dauntless spirit of
resolution in the eyes of the younger man. His resolve was
irrevocable. His crime had saved him.

"That's enough," said Ralph. He was satisfied.

"Why, you sleep--you sleep," cried the little schoolmaster. During the
preceding conversation he had been capering to and fro in the road,
leaping on to the hedge, leaping back again, and putting his hands to
the sides of his eyes to shut away the wind that came from behind him,
while he looked out for the expected enemy.

"You sleep--you sleep--that Garth--that devil's garth--that worse than
kirk-garth--that--that--!"

"And now we part," said Ralph, "for the present. Good by, both!" And
he turned to go back the way he came.

Monsey and Robbie had gone a few paces in the other direction, when
the little schoolmaster stopped, and, turning round, cried in a loud
voice, "O yes, I know it--the Lion. I've been there before. I'll
whisper Father Matthew that you've gone--"

Robbie had put his arm on Monsey's shoulder and swung him round, and
Ralph heard no more.

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW OF THE CRIME.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony. Coleridge.

The night was far advanced, and yet Ralph had not returned to
Shoulthwaite. It was three hours since Matthew Branthwaite had left
the Moss. Mrs. Ray still sat before the turf fire and gazed into it in
silence. Rotha was by her side, and Willy lay on the settle drawn up
to the hearth. All listened for the sound of footsteps that did not
come.

The old clock ticked out louder and more loud; the cricket's measured
chirp seemed to grow more painfully audible; the wind whistled through
the leafless boughs without, and in the lulls of the abating storm the
low rumble of the ghyll could be heard w