So you must hasten, child." In less than half an hour Donald and the cart were waiting at the door, and Moira stood in the hall with her father's bag ready packed.

"Oh, I am glad," she said, as she helped her father with his coat, "that Allan is not ill.

There can't be much wrong." "Wrong! Read that, child!" cried the father impatiently.
She took the letter and read, her face reflecting her changing emotions, perplexity, surprise, finally indignation.

"'A matter for the police,'" she quoted, scornfully, handing her father the letter.

"'A matter for the police' indeed! My but that Mr.Rae is the clever man! The police! Does he think my brother Allan would cheat ?--or steal, perhaps!" she panted, in her indignant scorn.
"Mr.Rae is a careful man and a very able lawyer," replied her father.
"Able! Careful! He's an auld wife, and that's what he is! You can tell him so for me." She was trembling and white with a wrath her father had never before seen in her.