Lady Hester Rawdon′s house stood not far from the Cathedral, something larger and uglier than its neighbours, with a stone staircase running along the outside, and the lower windows heavily grated with iron bars. Gervase and his companion were shown into a long, low-ceiled room on the ground floor, wainscoted in black oak and looking out on a small garden.

In a corner of the room stood a harpsichord; a piece of fine embroidery lay on the table. On a chair by the window lay an open book with the pages turned downwards. Some spring flowers in a vase gave out a perfume which, somehow, Gervase came to associate with Dorothy, and brought her vividly before him.

Presently she came in herself, clad in a simple black gown without any touch of colour. To Gervase she gave her hand without a word, but with a quiet smile of welcome on her lips, and then she turned to Macpherson, who stood drawn up to his full height, with his hat under his left arm and his hand resting on his sword hilt. “I am very glad to see 152you,” she said. “We talked much of you, Mr. Orme and myself, and I never doubted that we should meet again. But,” and she looked at him with inquiring sympathy, “you have been wounded?”

“A mere scratch,” he answered hastily. “And before I go further, you will let a rough old soldier say a word, Miss Carew?--though he cannot speak fairly, and in set terms such as please a woman. When we first met I spoke harshly and in anger, for which speech I am sorry now. In my rough journeys I have had knocks that somewhat hardened me, but I ask your pardon if I have in anywise offended you. I can do no more.”

“I would not have you speak of that,” she answered; “I only remember your service.”

“The which I did not render you.” Then he went on in evident perturbation: “You see before you one who played the coward and betrayed the trust he compelled you to place in his hands. Had I to go through with it again, it may be I should have done otherwise, but I acted for the best and followed the light I had. I know you will listen to me patiently.”

“Surely I will listen to you, but I am certain you have broken no trust of mine.”

Gervase retired to the window, while Macpherson went through his narrative without interruption and with an air of self-deprecation that he seldom showed. When he had done, he drew a piece of parchment from his breast and laid it on the table. On one side was written the message that Colonel Lundy 153had commissioned him to deliver at Enniskillen, on the other a number of lines and points were traced apparently in red ink.

“Now,” he said, “that is the whole story, and here is the plan on which is marked, with what skill I could command, the bearings by which the spot may be found. I could indeed walk blindfold thither, but I shall not be here when the time comes. Perhaps Mr. Orme will follow me as I point out to you the meaning of this scratch.”

Gervase came up to the table, and Dorothy and he together looked down on the red lines on which the old soldier had placed his forefinger. Then she looked up hastily: “With what have you done this?” she cried.

“Even with the first ink that came to my hand; ′tis none the less plain for that. Now,” he continued, “here is the way from the city, and here are the cross-roads which you cannot miss. Fifty paces further from that point bring you to a sycamore. Ten steps due west is the hedge, traced thus. And there at the foot of the wild apple-tree you will find the hole I digged. ′Tis covered with a flat stone and concealed by bracken, but by those who know the sign cannot be missed.”

“And I hope,” said Dorothy calmly, looking up in Macpherson′s face, “that it will never be found. Let it lie buried there for ever. Never let me look on it again. I would give the world that I had never seen it.”

Macpherson looked at her in wonder.

154“You do not understand me I know, but Mr. Orme does, and I know my secret is safe with him. Truly,” she added bitterly, and with a certain wildness, “your chart was well written with blood.”

“′Twas the best I could do: I am sorry that it does not please you.”

“You mistake Miss Carew′s meaning,” said Gervase. “She finds no fault with what you have done, and I think you have acted discreetly. But others are concerned in this, and she must not act without consideration.”

“However I may act,” said Dorothy, “you will promise to say nothing of this till you have my permission; neither to my aunt nor to my brother. They must know nothing of it now. And, Mr. Orme, I know the favour that I ask is great, but I cannot bear the sight of this now; will you keep it till I ask it from you?”

Gervase consented with some misgiving, but had she ordered him at that moment to go in search of the treasure single handed, ′tis likely that he would have done her bidding cheerfully, and gone without a word.

Having no clue to Dorothy′s meaning, Macpherson looked upon it as a piece of the whimsical extravagance one always found in a woman, and was content that he had delivered his message, however abruptly, and rid himself of his responsibility. For himself, he had no desire to meddle with family secrets, and a young fellow like Gervase Orme was a far fitter companion to share the confidence of a 155girl, than a rugged and plain-spoken soldier like himself. It might be there was more than her grandfather′s death in the matter, but whatever it was, he would avoid other people′s business for the future, and keep the beaten road, where he saw plain ground for his fee............