"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. He stood gazing at her in silent surprise.
"Papa," cried Moira passionately, answering his look, "do you think what
he is saying? I know my brother Allan clean through to the heart. He
is wild at times, and might rage perhaps and--and--break things, but he
will not lie nor cheat. He will die first, and that I warrant you."
Still her father stood gazing upon her as she stood proudly erect,
her pale face alight with lofty faith in her brother and scorn of his
traducer. "My child, my child," he said, huskily, "how like you are to
your mother! Thank God! Indeed it may be you're right! God grant it!" He
drew her closely to him.
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