e to his account with the burden, not of my
guilt, but of my fate, upon him."

Ralph walked to the fire and turned over the expiring peat. It gave a
fitful flicker. He took from his pocket the paper that had fallen from
his father's breast, and looked long at it in the feeble light. It was
all but the only evidence of the crime, and it must be destroyed. He
put the paper to the light. Drawing it away, he paused and reflected.
He thought of his stricken mother, and his resolve seemed fixed. He
must burn this witness against his father; he must crush the black
shadow of it in his hand. Could he but crush as easily the black
shadow of impending doom! Could he but obliterate as completely the
dread reckoning of another world!

The paper that hung in his hand had touched the flickering peat. It
was already ignited, but he drew it once more away, and crushed the
burning corner to ashes in his palm.

No, it must not be destroyed. He thought of how Rotha had stood over
her father's prostrate form in the room of the village inn, and cried
in her agony, "Tell them it is not true." Who could say what this
paper might yet do for him and her?

Ralph put the warrant back, charred and crumbled, into the breast
pocket of the jerkin he wore.

The burning of the paper had for a moment filled the chamber with
light. After the last gleam of it had died away, and the ash of the
burnt portion lay in his palm, Ralph walked to the front window and
looked out. All was still. Only the wind whistled. How black against
the moon loomed the brant walls of the Castle Rock across the vale!

Turning about, Ralph re-covered the face and said, "Death is kindest;
how could I look into this face alive?"

And the whisper of the old words came back once more: "The lofty looks
of men shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed
down."

Ralph walked to the window at the back and gently pushed it open. It
overlooked the fell and the Shoulthwaite Ghyll. A low roof went down
from it almost to the ground. He stepped out on to this, and stood for
a moment in the shadow that lay upon it.

He must take his last look now. He must bid his last good-night. The
moon through the opposite window still shone on the silvery hair. The
wind was high. It found its way through the open casement. It
fluttered the face-cloth above the face. Ralph pushed back the sash,
and in a moment he was gone.

CHAPTER X. MATTHA BRANTH'ET "FLYTES" THE PARSON.