The fire burned low in the grate as Nellie busied herself with washing the dishes; while outside the loud cries of the children, playing on the green, mingled occasionally with a clink, as the steel quoits fell upon each other, telling of some enthusiastic players, who were practicing for the local games.  Loud cries of encouragement broke from the supporters, and Geordie and Nellie heard all these—­even the plaintive wail of a child crying in a house a few doors farther up the “row,” and the mother’s attempts to soothe it into forgetfulness of its temporary pain or disappointment.

The little apartment seemed to have become suddenly cheerless.  Nellie felt the silence most oppressive, for she was wondering how he was taking it all.  Soon, however, he rose and reached for his cap.  Looking at his wife with eyes that set all her fears at rest—­for she saw pride in them, pride in her and the way she had acted—­he said:—­

“Thank ye, Nellie; ye are a’ the woman I always thocht ye was, an’ I’ll see that nae dirty brute ever again gets the chance to insult ye,” and he was out of the door before she could question him further.

Geordie went straight to where Walker lived and knocked at the door.  A girl of fourteen came in answer to his knock, for Walker was a widower, his wife having died shortly after the birth of their only child.

“Is yer faither in?” enquired Geordie quietly, hardly able to control the raging anger in his heart.

“No, he’s no’ in,” replied the girl.  “Oh, is that you, Geordie?” she asked, recognizing him in the darkness.  “My father said when he went oot that if ye cam’ to the door, I was to tell ye he had nae places yet.”

“That’s a’ richt,” said Geordie, still very quietly.  “Do ye ken onything aboot where he is this nicht?”

“No, unless he’s up in Sanny Robertson’s, or maybe in Peter Fleming’s.”

“Thank ye,” said Geordie, turning away, “I’ll go up an’ see if he is there.”

He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and had stopped on an extra shift to repair a road, by special instructions from Walker; so Geordie went direct to Fleming’s house and knocked at the door.  After an interval a woman’s voice enquired, “Wha’s that?” and Geordie thought there was anxiety in it.

“Open the door,” said Geordie quietly.  “What the hell are ye afert for?” and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work, immediately opened the door.

“You’re shairly early,” she said; then suddenly recognizing who the intruder was, she tried to shut the door.

“Na, na,” said Geordie, now well in the doorway, “I want to see Black Jock.”

“He’s no’ here,” she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her voice.

“You’re a liar, Jean,” replied Geordie, “that’s him gaun oot at the room door,” and Geordie withdrew hurriedly, determined that Black Jock should not escape him.  He hurried to the end of the “row,” and waited with all the passion of long years raging through his whole being.  He stepped out as Walker advanced, and said:  “Is that you, Walker?”