nding by the chimney-place. "Take the
testimony which I gave and go through it word by word, and you can find
neither forgery nor perjury. I had been well taught in the letter of
the law. I was Pitcairn's own pupil, Jock!"

It was less than a week from this time that I came in from a ride,
happier than I had thought to be again in this life, when a sight met
my eyes which threw me clear from my reckoning. Going past the door of
Nancy's sitting-room, I looked in, and at first sight thought my eyes
had deceived me, for standing in the middle of the room was Hugh
Pitcairn, and Nancy's head was on his shoulder. I saw that she was
crying, and that the great lawyer himself, who was far from unmoved,
patted her shoulder every once in a while, saying, "There, there!"
staring out of the window and blinking hard to keep the tears back.

I went on to my own chamber and sat down in a heap on the side of the
bed, as I used to do at college, repeating, "Good Heavens!" over and
over to myself, until interrupted in the performance by Huey, who came
in to gather the fire. "Where is Mr. Pitcairn, Huey?" said I. "He's
went," he replied, and on the words a fear seized me lest Nancy should
retire into one of her silences, and I should be left in a state of
raging curiosity through the night. Upon inquiry I found that she was
sleeping, and went down to the library, where I had but just settled
myself when Hugh Pitcairn appeared before me, a legal document in his
hand, having been for a walk to recover himself, I supposed. He looked
more wooden than I had ever seen him, and, in the language of the
country, I knew he would make me pay for the emotion he had shown
before Nancy.

"I've news for you," he said.

"Hugh," I answered, "if they're pleasant, ye're welcome; but if they
are not, I tell ye frankly, I've been stretched to breaking in the past
year, and can not stand much more."

"It's not ill," he answered. "It concerns the death of the Duke of
Borthwicke."

Here was dangerous walking for me, and I waited.

"Do you recall," he inquired, "the French woman at the Burnside who
taught the Marseilles work?"

"A poor distraught body who ran from her own shadow?" said I.

He nodded.

"Although she spoke the French tongue, it seems she was Irish by birth.
Her name"--he coughed a little behind his hand as though to give me
time--"her name was Barnet."

I had heard the name before, but where? I saw that Hugh was waiting for
me to plac