So she left him crouching over the fire, with his elbows on his knees, and his face hidden in his hands. And she asked him no more questions, but when he had had a good meal, he said, “You asked where I had been, Christine? I hae been in prison—in the House of Correction. I was put there by that villain Rath, who accused me of obtaining money under false pretenses.”
“I feared something of the kind. A man came here a short time before mother died——”
“Mother dead!”
“Ay, going on eight months now.”
And he cried out like some hurt animal, and Christine hasted to say, “She left her love and her blessing. At the very last, she spoke o’ you, Neil.”
“The man you were speaking of, what did he say?”
“He asked me for the particulars o’ my loan to you. He pitied me, and said you had a way o’ getting money on vera questionable pretenses.”
“Well, what then?”
“I said you made no pretenses to me, that you didna even ask me to lend you money, that I offered it to you, and refused a’ bond, or acknowledgment, and only bid you pay me when money was easy wi’ you. And I took the liberty o’ calling him a sneaking scoundrel, and something else I’ll not say o’er 326 again. Then I wrote, and told you the entire circumstance, and you never answered my letter.”
“I never received it. Rath wanted to leave Scotland, and the case was fairly rushed through. I was stunned. I think I lost my senses. I did get a lawyer, but I am sure Rath bought him. Anyway, I lost the case, and before I realized the situation, I found myself in prison for six months. I was made to work—look at my hands—I had dreadful food, dreadful companions. I was ill all the time. And when at last I was set free, someone had claimed my fine clothing, and left me these shameful rags.”