n the hill, with his bag upon his shoulder and his face
set southwards.

CHAPTER XIII

A CREATURE OF IMPULSE

Up the broad avenue to the great house of Thorpe, Stephen Hurd slowly
made his way, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes fixed upon the
ground. But his appearance was not altogether the appearance of a man
overcome with grief. The events of the last few days had told upon him,
and his deep mourning had a sombre look. Yet there were thoughts working
even then in his brain which battled hard with his natural depression.
Strange things had happened--stranger things than he was able all at
once to digest. He could not see the end, but there were possibilities
upon which he scarcely dared to brood.

He was shown into the library and left alone for nearly twenty minutes.
Then Wilhelmina came, languid, and moving as though with tired feet. Yet
her manner was gentler and kinder than usual. She leaned back in one of
the vast easy-chairs, and murmured a few graceful words of sympathy.

"We were all so sorry for you, Mr. Hurd," she said. "It was a most
shocking affair."

"I thank you very much--madam," he replied, after a moment's pause. It
was better, perhaps, for the present, to assume that their relations
were to continue those of employer and employed.

"I do not know," she continued, "whether you care to speak about this
shocking affair. Perhaps you would prefer that we did not allude to it
for the present."

He shook his head.

"I am not sure," he answered, "that it is not rather a relief to have it
spoken of. One can't get it out of one's mind, of course."

"There is no news of the man--no fresh capture?"

"None," he answered. "They are dragging the slate quarry again to-day. I
believe there are some very deep holes where the body may have drifted."

"Do you believe that that is the case?" she asked; "or do you think that
he got clean away?"

"I cannot tell," he answered. "It seems impossible that he should have
escaped altogether without help."

"And that he could not have had, could he?" she asked.

He looked across at her thoughtfully, watching her face, curious to see
whether his words might have any effect.

"Only from one person," he said.

"Yes?"

"From Macheson, the fellow who came here to convert us all," he said
deliberately.

Beyond a slight elevation of the eyebrows, his scrutiny was in vain, for
she made no sign.

"He scarcely seems a likely person, does he, to aid a