footpads relented, and with a gruff, “Hey, then!” thrust three coins back into her not unwilling hand.  With a mixture of joy and fear the girl fled into the darkness, but as she ran, she thought she heard a shout, and soon, to her consternation, she made certain that hurrying footsteps were coming up behind her.  In dire terror now, she left the road, and crept into some bushes in an adjacent hollow.  There, with thumping heart, she cowered whilst two men ran past, and presently, whilst she still lay hid, they returned, vowing loud vengeance on some person who had “done” them.  It was long ere the poor girl dared leave her shelter, late ere she got home to tell her tale to an anxious mother.  But when the three rescued shillings were produced, the cause of the robbers’ anger was not far to seek; they were not shillings that came this time from the depths of a capacious pocket, but three golden guineas.

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

When the skipper of some small coastal trading craft is able to retire from leading a sea-faring life, it is usually within close range of the briny, tarry whiffs that with every breeze come puffing from the harbour of some little port out of which he has formerly traded that he sets up his shore-going abode.  There, when he has paid off for the last time, and everything, so to speak, is coiled down and made ship-shape, he settles within easy hail of old cronies like himself; and if he should chance to be one of those who have lived all their days with only their ship for wife, then he not unnaturally falls easily into the habit of dropping, of an evening, into the snug, well-lit bar-parlour of the “Goat and Compasses” or the “Mariner’s Friend,” or some such house of entertainment, with its glowing fire and warm, seductive, tobacco-and grog-scented atmosphere, there to wile away the time swopping yarns with old friends.  Sometimes, if opportunity offer, he is not averse from a mild game of cards for moderate points; and usually he takes, or at least in old days he used to take, his liquor hot—­and strong.

Captain Alexander Craes was one of those retired merchant skippers; but he had not, like the majority of his fellows, settled near the sea-coast.  It was Kelso that had drawn him like a loadstone.  An inland-bred man, in his boyhood he had run away to sea, and the sea, that had irresistibly woed his youthful fancy, had no whit fulfilled his boyish dreams.  It was not always blue, he found; the ship was not always running before a spanking breeze; more kicks than ha’pence, more rope’s-endings than blessings, came his way during the first few years of his sailor life.  Perhaps it was because he had been ashamed to go back and own himself beaten, or perhaps it was his native Border dourness that had caused him to stick to it; but at any rate he did stick to it—­though, like most sailors, he growled, and even swore sometimes, that he hated the life.  And now, in the winter