“It is surprisingly livable, but it is draughty,” McVay went on.  “The truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week.  But one cannot foresee everything.  The winters have been open until Christmas so often lately.  However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to rectify it.  If you have no objection, I’ll go and bring her back here.”

“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.”

“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—­” he hesitated for the right word, not wishing to be unjust,—­“so obtuse.  Listen to that wind!  It’s cold here.  Think what it must be in that shanty.”

“Very unpleasant, I should think.”

“More than that, more than that,—­suffering, I have no doubt.  Why, she might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire.  It is not safe.  It’s a distinct risk to leave her.  Let alone that a storm like this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some danger to her life.  Don’t you see that?”

“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that before you came burgling in a blizzard.”

“Thought of it!  Of course I thought of it.  But I had no idea whatever of being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did seem about the safest job yet.”

There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: 

“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!”

“Helped it!” said Geoffrey.  “What do you mean?  Let you loose on the county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?”

“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, but,” he added brightly, “you could go yourself.”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I could—­”

“Then I think you ought to be getting along.”

“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, aren’t you?”

McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion.

“Oh, hardly that,” he said.  “Every now and then I have a way of putting things,—­a way of my own.  I find often I am able to amuse people, but if you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so.  I was just thinking that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years to have some one come in with a new point of view.”

“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life.  It’s an ill wind, you know.”

“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough.  Come, Holland, you certainly can trust me.  Do be starting.”

“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey.  “Do you really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in order to give you a chance to escape?”

“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger crossed his brow; “’accomplices’!  I have no accomplices.  Anything I do I think I am able to do alone.  Still,” he added putting aside his annoyance, “if you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back.”