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shoe, and felt the sticky dampness on his fingers. He had lifted his fingers before his face and seen the brown smear on them, smelt it, and the sweet, molten odour of it had made him vomit.
    He had slept, eventually, and the tensions and exhaustions of the day had left him too tired, he thanked God, for dreams, but it had been on waking that the nightmare had returned, for only for the briefest, most blissful of moments, had he forgotten what he had done. He had expressed his shock when he learned of Sim’s death, found the right words, if such there could be; fulfilled the duties of the Sabbath, somehow. In all, he had acted as would have been expected of him, but now, wakeful and alone as others slept, he could scarcely stop himself from shaking, and no matter how tight he held himself, he could not blot out the hollow of dread that filled his stomach. But he must think, think. A day had passed and no one had accused him. He had searched every shelf of the library and had not found what he sought, but no one else had done so either, or he would by now be tethered in the tolbooth, a doubly condemned man. It might be long enough, if ever, before anyone came upon that which he feared was still there, somewhere. For who would look as Robert Sim had looked? A man might have it before his eyes and not see what it was that Robert Sim had seen. And yet, perhaps Sim had passed what he had found to another. He would know soon enough, no doubt. All he could do now was to continue to play his part, and in the passage of time, perhaps, the horror of yesterday would be forgotten and the cause of it never known. He looked once more in the mirror, and he could begin to believe it had been another man, and not him who had committed that terrible act at all.

SIX
In Search of Robert Sim
    There was little that could be done in my researches in to Robert Sim’s life on the Sabbath, and so Zander was delighted to see me still at home when he tumbled from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes on Monday morning.
    ‘Is the college closed today?’ A better idea. ‘Is it a holiday?’
    ‘Not a holiday. A few more weeks yet till that. But I have some work to do in the town for Dr Dun, and so he has had someone else take my classes today.’
    His face became serious. ‘I hope it is not Mr Jack; I do not like Mr Jack.’
    ‘Mr Jack strives as he does that the boys might make the best of themselves, but he is maybe a bit harsh on them.’
    ‘He has a bad face,’ persisted Zander, ‘and I do not like him.’
    ‘Zander!’ said his mother. ‘A man cannot help his face.’
    ‘No, but the fellow might smile occasionally,’ I muttered to her, under my breath, to be rewarded with a warning look and a wet rag with which I was instructed to wipe my daughter’s face.
    ‘Are you going back to the library this morning?’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘There are some matters Dr Dun wishes me to look in to in town.’
    ‘What matters?’
    I shook my head, indicating Zander, and she did not pursue the matter.
    ‘Have you time to walk with us then, to the Cargills’ house?’
    ‘I do, but I had not thought you went so early. Does Zander not go by himself these light mornings?’
    ‘He does, and Deirdre and I stay here and see to our work, do we not, my pet?’
    Deirdre laughed, and threw the rag I had left sitting by her to the floor.
    ‘But today we go early to Elizabeth’s. She is to order new linen. There is a weaver in town newly returned from the Netherlands with a wondrous skill, they say, and all the latest in Dutch fashions. Elizabeth wants my help in going through her linen chest, to see what she will need.’
    ‘If she does not already know what she needs, she cannot truly be in need of it at all.’
    ‘Alexander! I sometimes think you would be happier living like a monk in that college of yours. It is no sin to have nice things that you have worked to earn.’
    I stroked her face. ‘I know it is not. And if I could provide for you as