“It’s no’ there, anyway,” remarked Rachel, rising at last.
She opened the neighbour drawer, and Kitty winced, for it held her father’s manuscripts.
“Oh!” gasped Rachel, and stood petrified.
“Hurry up!” called her brother, and she started.
“It—it’s here,” she whispered, and held it up.
Corrie strode in, snatched it and held it close to his niece’s face.
Kitty was white as death now. What dumb innocence, what loud defence, could stand against this?
Her aunt slunk from the room.
“Well,” said Corrie at last in a lowered voice, “I’ll let ye go free now; I’ll let ye go free till this time to-morrow—no, till ten o’clock to-morrow night. But if ye want to go free after that, ye know the way—the only way. Now ye can think over it. I’ll mind the office myself.”
With that he went out.