lls dark glistening in the rain--"and then
the bower must out and shine to mind me--to mind me--ah, Mont-aiglon, my
pardons, my regrets! you must be finding me a melancholy host."

"Do not mention it," said Count Victor carelessly, though the conduct
of this marvel fairly bewildered him, and his distress seemed poorly
accounted for by his explanation. "_Ah, vieux blagueur!_" he thought,
"can it be Balhaldie again--a humbug with no heart in his breast but
an onion in his handkerchief?" And then he was ashamed of suspicions of
which a day or two ago he would have been incapable.

"My dear friends of Monday did me the honour to call in your absence,"
he said. "They have not gone more than twenty minutes."

"What! the Macfarlanes," cried Doom, every trace of his softer emotion
gone, but more disturbed than ever as he saw the sword for the first
time. "Well--well--well?" he inquired eagerly.

"Well, well, well?" and he gripped Count Victor by the arm and looked
him in the eyes.

"Nothing serious happened," replied Count Victor, "except that your
domestics suffered some natural alarms."

Doom seemed wonderously relieved. "The did not force an entrance?" said
he.

"They did their best, but failed. I pricked one slightly before I fell
back on Mungo's barricades; that and some discomfiture from Mistress
Annapla's punch-bowl completed the casualties."

"Well? well? well?" cried Lamond, still waking something. Count Victor
only looked at him in wonder, and led the way to the door where Mungo
drew back the bars and met his master with a trembling front. A glance
of mute inquiry and intelligence passed between the servant and his
master: the Frenchman saw it and came to his own conclusions, but
nothing was said till the Baron had made a tour of investigation through
the house and come at last to join his guest in the _salle_, where the
embers of the fire were raked together on the hearth and fed with new
peat. The Count and his host sat down together, and when Mungo had gone
to prepare some food for his master, Count Victor narrated the night's
adventure. He had an excited listener--one more excited, perhaps, than
the narrative of itself might account for.

"And there is much that is beyond my poor comprehension," continued
Count Victor, looking at him as steadfastly as good breeding would
permit.

"Eh?" said Doom, stretching fingers that trembled to the peat-flame that
stained his face like wine.

"Your servant Mungo