bout him, yet they had done him no harm. He shook himself joint by
joint to make sure. All was right. Perhaps they were only out hunting
and he had deranged them. Whitefoot knew quite well what it was to chase
rabbits and hares into just such nets. At any rate he could not explain,
but took the piece of beef which Patsy had waiting for him with
satisfaction.

On his return Whitefoot tried the garden-hedge farther down, but here
again he found himself in a bag. Evidently they were netting the whole
of the garden. He lay still, certain now that they meant him no harm,
and, indeed, in a far shorter time than before he was loose and scouring
away into the shadows of the woods. This time the man into whose nets he
had blundered, merely stood behind a tree, and at sight of his shadowy
figure Whitefoot got himself out of the neighbourhood. Men with nets,
guns that went off with a bang, and dead things that kicked and bled
were connected in Whitefoot's mind with such night expeditions. So no
wonder he betook himself away as quickly and as unobtrusively as
possible.

But the message that Patsy received was this:

_"Important see you to-morrow night, smaller avenue gate, ten
o'clock._

"JEAN."

To this Patsy had replied, moistening the stub of her "killevine" in her
mouth as she had been wont to do at school:

_"Dear Jean,--of course I shall be there!"_

* * * * *

Never fell gloaming so slowly for Spy Eben of Stonykirk as that of
Friday the 26th of June. The red in the west mounted ever higher,
revealing and painting infinitely the remote strata of cloud-flecks
which thinned out into the azure. At half-past nine it seemed that ten
o'clock would find the old military road upon which debouched the little
avenue of Ladykirk, still as bright as upon a mellow afternoon.

But arriving suddenly and surpassing all his hopes, a wind from the sea
began to blow, bringing up the outside fog from the ocean. First it came
in puffs and slow dragging wreaths, but afterwards with the march of
steady army corps which sponged out the house, the trees and the road.

By ten all was slaty grey dusk, into which a man could stretch his hand
well out of his own sight. The heart of the Spy exulted. It was a thing
so unexpected, and (for he remembered his upbringing) so providential,
that he almost returned thanks, as after an unexpected meal.

He did so quite when a little after the hour rapid fe