to the herring. "It's all ye'll get, Mr.—Ducie, if that's your name."
"Madam"—I held out the fish at the end of my fork—"you drag it across the track of an apology." I set it back on the dish and replaced the cover. "It is clear that you wish us gone. Well and good: grant Rowley a day for recovery, and to-morrow you shall be quit of us." I reached for my hat.
"Whaur are ye gaun?"
"To seek other lodgings."
"I'll no say Man, man! have a care! And me but to close an eye the nicht!" She dropped into a chair, "Nay, Mr. Ducie, ye daurna! Think o' that innocent lamb!"
"That little pig."
"He's ower young to die," sobbed my landlady.
"In the abstract I agree with you: but I am not aware that Rowley's death is required. Say rather that he is ower young to turn King's evidence." I stepped back from the door. "Mrs. McRankine," I said, "I believe you to be soft-hearted. I know you to be curious. You will be pleased to sit perfectly still and listen to me."
And, resuming my seat, I leaned across the corner of the table and put my case before her without suppression or extenuation. Her breathing tightened over my sketch of the duel with Goguelat; and again more sharply as I told of my descent of the rock. Of Alain she said, "I ken his sort," and of Flora twice, "I'm wonderin' will I have seen her?" For the rest, she heard me out in silence, and rose and walked to the door without a word. There she turned. "It's a verra queer tale. If McRankine had told me the like, I'd have gien him the lie to his face."
Two minutes later I heard the vials of her speech unsealed above stairs, with detonations that shook the house.
