Donald, my boy!’”

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CHAPTER IX

Ten long days, including the quietest Christmas ever spent in Bonnie Doon, and then on the second day of the New Year—“A letter for you, Miss Jean, from the Thatched House.” Elsie’s dour face softened as the girl eagerly tore open the envelope.

My dearest Love

I find I can’t come to-night as I had hoped to do, but I will be with you early to-morrow morning.

Harry

Jean remembered that a telegram had come for her uncle a few moments ago. Now telegrams were always being delivered at Bonnie Doon, but some secret instinct now seemed to tell her that this time the telegram had had something to do with her lover and his affairs.

She walked into the doctor’s study, and when he saw who it was, he opened the top drawer of the writing table at which he was sitting, and slipped something into it.

“Well?” he said, looking up, “Well, my dear, what d’you want?”

She came close up to the table, and he was dismayed to see how sad and suffering was the expression on her young face.

“Uncle Jock,” she said in a low voice, “Harry has just sent me word that he can’t come this evening. I suppose——” and then she stopped short; somehow she could not bring herself to say the horrible words. But at last she whispered: “I suppose they are going to dig up poor Mrs. Garlett’s coffin to-night?”

Dr. Maclean rose from his chair; he put his arm round the girl’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said quietly, “you have guessed 94aright, Jean. The exhumation is to take place to-night, and Harry and I will both, of course, be present.”

94

He could feel her trembling, and he saw her right hand open and shut.

“You must remind yourself,” he went on, “that what is going to be done to-night marks the beginning of the end—as far as Harry’s painful ordeal is concerned. You and I know—indeed I am convinced that even those who have ordered the exhumation feel as sure of it as we do—that the result will be nil; that is to say, from 

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