Four days later news came to the manor-house that Meg of the Hills was dying. Since our visit to Meg’s cottage I had seen little of the patroon. This particular afternoon I had spent in my own room in no amiable frame of mind. In fact, I had begun to ask myself why I was at the manor-house at all. I had come to trap the patroon, yet what had I done? I had seen crimes committed before my eyes, and I had been asked to be privy to yet another—the cold-blooded murder of the dwarf. Why did I not go direct to the Earl at New York and expose my new master? In truth, I do not know, yet there were many reasons. In the first place, I still hoped in a vague way to learn more about the circumstances of my sister’s death. I held on, waiting for some bit of evidence that would convict the patroon of her murder. I had not the least doubt that he had murdered her, and the desire for revenge was too sweet to waste upon other crimes. He must meet his punishment for that one and I must be the one to bring him to it.

Yet, as I look back upon these events, I know that there was still a stronger reason than this which stayed my hand, though I did not realize it at the time. Every additional bit of confidence 266that the patroon put in me made it harder for me to think of betraying my new trust. At times I caught the wild feverish desire of everyone about the manor-house to keep it all away from the knowledge of his daughter. At those times I would be almost willing to draw my sword in defense of the wicked practices of the Red Band rather than have it go to wreck and ruin over the young mistress’ head.

But all these thoughts were cut short by the sound of the patroon’s cane tapping in the corridor towards my door. It was not often that he honored me with a personal visit like this and I rose to receive him.

“Get on your traps,” he said abruptly. “They say that Meg is dying, and, before I could stop her Miriam hurried off to the cottage. Quick man, quick; you must stop her ears again. What if my child should hear what you heard the other night? Hurry, man, would you have me shamed before my daughter?”

“For her sake I’ll go,” I answered; but I muttered between my teeth that it was for none of him I went.

I did not stop to saddle a horse, but went directly on foot. It was a mile or more to the cottage, and when I set out it was about twilight. Before I reached my destination, darkness had closed in. I heard the low sound of a single voice as I drew near the cottage, and when I came to 267the threshold the sight I saw within made me stop.

The moon was full and the bright light fell across the floor in a wide band. Meg’s face was in the shadow, but the lower half of the cot on which she lay was shrouded in the light. Mistress Miriam was kneeling at the foot of the bed, in the full glow of the light. She was praying, and her hands were clasped with her silver beaded rosary hanging across them. Since the first night of my arrival at the manor-house, I had not often come in contact with the religion I had so often cursed. Now a pang shot through my heart and I turned away. But at that moment long forgotten words came into my mind like a voice from the dead. “No, no, brother,” Ruth had said to me. “Vincent, turn the word of God into your own dull heart before you judge your neighbor.”

So Ruth, my sister, had said to me. I looked in again at this young woman praying in the moon-light and my heart softened. From her beautiful face I looked into the shadow where lay the woman with the memory of her sin.

I could not help but listen. Miriam’s voice was soft and pleading. It fell upon Meg’s ear like a promise of better things. She stopped moaning and her fingers, which were nervously twitching at the bedclothes, grew still and sank restfully by her side.

All this time I had been standing on the step 268outside, unknown to those within. I had been sent to watch the young mistress and to keep her from hearing what she should not. But I had no strength of will to interrupt this scene. I was about to turn away when my attention was attracted by some words of Miriam’s prayer.

“Holy Mother, help this poor woman. Make her happy in the life to come. In the name of Christ who died let not her death be upon our head. O God, what I have heard, let it not be true.”

My first thought was that the old woman had told her everything; but I was soon undeceived. An interruption came from the shadow.

“What have you heard, my lass?”

Miriam sprang up in excitement; as she did so her rosary fell from her hands to the floor near the door, where I was standing.

“O Meg,” she cried joyfully. “Can you speak again?”

“Ay, my dear, my head feels clearer now. But what have you heard?”

“Nothing, Meg, nothing at all.”

“Tut, tut, do you think it will worry the life out of me? Tell me what it is you have heard?”

“No, no, I must not.”

“Miriam,” cried the old woman, “I’ve loved you all my life, never ask why. There is something on my mind now. I shall die easy if you will tell me what you have heard.”

“O Meg, how can I? Such tales of my father.”

269“What are they? I’ve got but a few minutes left to give you comfort in. Tell me, my lass, what you have heard that troubles you.”

I had already had experience of Meg’s devotion to one idea. I thought that now the disclosure would come and that it was time for me to step in and prevent it. Yet I stood immovable as a statue on the outside, against my will.

“I have heard that he was to blame for your illness, and that——”

“It is a lie,” she cried fiercely, rousing herself with some of her old-time spirit. “My little lass, they lie who say such things as that.”

Then, to my astonishment, fell rapidly the old woman’s tale. In quick, passionate words she pleaded on behalf of the patroon. She forestalled every bit of information that might by accident get to Miriam’s ears. She denied the truth of what the patroon had really done. She put good motives where he had acted from bad. Was it her old love returning at the last moment to act in behalf of the man who had ruined her? Or was she, too, like the rest of us trying merely to shield the young mistress? Everyone seemed to love her; everyone tried to save her from the ruin that we all foresaw. I stepped back and retraced my way to the manor-house.

All the way home my mind was occupied with a new thought. I flew backward in imagination to that scene on the Royal Lion when Ruth taught 270me my duty in words I had forgotten. From the time of our second separation, I had been growing still harder on the Catholics. My heart had leaped with joy when I knew that I had the patroon nearly in my grasp, and that it was a Catholic I was hounding to his ruin. Yet Ruth had taught me to be tolerant. How had I followed her instructions? Should I not be ashamed of myself? Then like a revelation it all came over me; why I had done nothing for so many weeks, why I could not play false to the patroon, why I stood spellbound on the cottage steps when Miriam was praying at the old woman’s bedside. When I left the cottage I held something in my hand. Now I looked at it passionately for a moment and put it in my bosom.

When I reached home I told the patroon what I had overheard, and that there was no danger of his daughter hearing anything he did not wish her to hear. I thought the tears came into his eyes when I told him this.

“It is for love of her,” he said in a low voice. “But not for me. God help her.”

The patroon had nothing for me to do, so I returned to my room. But I could not rest. After a while—it must have been towards midnight—I rose and went outside for a breath of air. I hardly knew where to walk. Then I bethought myself of Miriam alone in the cottage among the hills. I was just turning in that direction when I............