Outside, the firs rose, black and dripping, above the wet drive.  Between their trunks he saw the river, stained with peat, brawling among the stones, and the streaks of foam that stretched across a coffee-colored pool.  Then a few boggy fields ran back into the mist that hung about the hills.  A red fire threw a soft glow about the library.  The room was somewhat shabby but spacious.  Rows of old books in stained bindings, which Foster thought nobody read, faded into the gloom at its other end.  It was warm and quiet, and he found it a comfortable retreat.

He had now been a fortnight at the Garth and did not want to leave.  Featherstone and his wife obviously wished him to stay; he was grateful for the welcome they had given him, and felt as if he belonged to the place.  What Alice thought was not clear, but she treated him with a quiet friendliness that he found singularly pleasant.  By and by he began to wonder why Lawrence had not written, particularly as he had brought away a bag of his.  Foster had one like it, and as both had its owner’s initials stamped outside, he imagined the baggage agent had been deceived by the F when he affixed the check.  Lawrence’s bag, however, had his name engraved upon the lock.

Foster sat down in a big chair by the fire, and imagined he fell asleep, because it had got nearly dark without his noticing it when the opening of the door roused him.  Looking up, he saw Featherstone come in with a letter in his hand.  The post did not arrive until the afternoon.

“Ah!” he said, “you have heard from Lawrence.”

“No, but the letter is about him,” Featherstone replied, and sitting down opposite, was silent for a few moments.  His pose was slack and he looked as if he had got a shock.

“I don’t see how you can help, but perhaps you had better know how matters are,” he resumed and gave the letter to Foster.

It was short, but Foster, who was surprised and disturbed, understood his host’s alarm.  Daly had written from Hexham, asking, or rather summoning, Featherstone to meet him there next day, although he stated that if this was impossible, he would arrive at the Garth in the evening.  There was a threat in the intimation that it would be to Lawrence’s advantage if Featherstone saw him soon.

“Well,” said Foster dryly, “it looks as if our plot had succeeded better than we thought.  We certainly didn’t expect the fellow would follow me to England.”

Featherstone did not seem to understand, and Foster remembered that, with the object of saving him anxiety, he had said nothing about Daly’s having extorted money from Lawrence in Canada.  He now explained the situation in as few words as possible.

“But Lawrence ought to have told me!” Featherstone exclaimed.

“I don’t know that it would have been of much use.  You see, Lawrence meant to put Daly off the track, and if he failed in this, to fight.  When I heard of it, I quite agreed.”