He shut his eyes. He would have a short sleep now. He needed one; the heat had drained him. And when he woke he would see if it was time to carry water to the garden, a job he was already relishing the prospect of (light slopping in the mouth of a pail). But when he did wake—the usual confusion following upon a sleep in the day—he heard Cornelius, his voice shrill, angry it seemed, and he sat up on the bed, braced, uneasy. He strained to hear but the only word he could be sure of was “How?”—spoken twice, the second at a higher pitch than the first. Clearly all soporific effects of the drug had worn off. Then he remembered the piece of flint the child had brought up and that Emily had tossed into the trench. It had been found of course! Cornelius was not angry but excited. And if it was Emily he was speaking to she must be struggling to keep a straight face.

He peeled off his stockings, shook out the sand, put them on again, pulled on his boots. He was tugging on the second boot when he paused once more to listen. Another voice now, a woman’s. Words close-packed, words in flurries. Then Cornelius again, as if trying to bat the words away. Then silence.

Was it silence?

He did not want to intrude on a family spat but he was curious. Why should the finding of the flint occasion a row? He went to the door. If he was in the way, if his presence was awkward, he would nod to them, cross the room and leave the house, make himself scarce for an hour.

He opened the door and went in. They were all there: Cornelius, Jane, Emily, Ranald. Cornelius was standing at one side of the table. He had the appearance of a man falsely accused, a raggedy, half-size Danton. On the other side of the table was Emily, her cheeks shining with tears (no green glasses to hide them now). Jane was in the shadows by the bottom of the stairs, arms folded beneath her breasts. Ranald was beside the hall door, his gaze on the floor, the old rugs. On the table, and somehow the centre of everything, was a parcel of black earth, of freshly cut peat, about the size of a family Bible.

Then several things happened at once. Jane began to speak; Emily turned and made for the kitchen door; Cornelius slumped on to a chair by the table. Only Ranald kept his former pose.

“Cornelius,” said Jane, “has found something, or the Mackinnons have, and now he will not go to Glasgow with Emily and Emily is in a rage with him.”

“I appeal to you,” said Cornelius. “A fellow man. A rational being. How can I go now? It is . . . ”

“What have you found?” asked Lacroix.