gangrel he met--was like a week-day sermon, and they
considered the Sunday homilies of Dr. Macivor quite enough. They much
preferred their Simon in his more common mood of wild devilry, and
nobody knew it better than the gentleman himself.

"Oh, damn the lousy tribe of them!" cried he, beating his palm upon the
table; "what's Long Davie the dempster thinking of to be letting such
folk come scorning here?"

"I'll warrant they get more encouragement here than they do in Lorn,"
said the Provost, shrewdly, for he had seen the glint of coin and knew
his man. "You beat all, Factor! If I lived a hundred years, you would be
more than I could fathom. Well, well, pass the bottle, and ye might have
another skelp at yon tune if it's your pleasure."

The Chamberlain most willingly complied: it was the easiest retort to
the Provost's vague allusion.

He played the tune again; once more its conclusion baffled him, and as
he tried a futile repetition Count Victor stood listening in the lobby
of the Boar's Head Inn.

CHAPTER XXI -- COUNT VICTOR CHANGES HIS QUARTERS

Count Victor said _Au revoir_ to Doom Castle that afternoon.

Mungo had rowed him down by boat to the harbour and left him with his
valise at the inn, pleased mightily that his cares as garrison were to
be relieved by the departure of one who so much attracted the unpleasant
attention of nocturnal foes, and returned home with the easiest mind he
had enjoyed since the fateful day the Frenchman waded to the rock. As
for Count Victor, his feelings were mingled. He had left Doom from a
double sense of duty, and yet had he been another man he would have
bided for love. After last evening's uproar, plain decency demanded that
Jonah should obviate a repetition by removing himself elsewhere. There
was also another consideration as pregnant, yet more delicate: the
traditions of his class and family as well as his natural sense of
honour compelled his separation from the fascinating influence of the
ingenuous woman whose affections were pledged in another quarter. In
a couple of days he had fallen desperately in love with Olivia--a
precipitation that might seem ridiculous in any man of the world who
was not a Montaiglon satiated by acquaintance with scores of Dame
Stratagems, fair _intrigueuses_ and puppets without hearts below
their modish bodices. Olivia charmed by her freshness, and the simple
frankness of her nature, with its deep emotions, gave him infinitely
more s