in the sweetness of his own
performance.

"Ah!" said he to himself, pausing to admire--"Ah! there's no doubt I
finger it decently well--better than most--better than any I've heard,
and what's the wonder at that? for it's all in what you feel, and the
most of people are made of green wood. There's no green timber here; I'm
cursed if I'm not the very ancient stuff of fiddles!"

He had never felt happier in all his life. The past?--he wiped that off
his recollection as with a sponge; now he was a new man with his feet
out of the mire and a clean road all the rest of the way, with a clean
sweet soul for his companion. He loved her to his very heart of hearts;
he had, honestly, for her but the rendered passion of passion--why! what
kept her?

He rammed the flageolet impatiently into his waistcoat, threw back his
cloak, and stepped out into the garden. Doom Castle rose over him black,
high and low, without a glimmer. A terrific apprehension took possession
of him. He raised his head and gave the signal call, so natural that it
drew an answer almost like an echo from an actual bird far off in some
thicket at Achnatra. And oh! felicity; here she was at last!

The bolts of the door slid back softly; the door opened; a little figure
came out. Forward swept the lover, all impatient fires--to find himself
before Mungo Boyd!

He caught him by the collar of his coat as if he would shake him.

"What game is this? what game is this?" he furiously demanded. "Where is
she?"

"Canny, man, canny!" said the little servitor, releasing himself with
difficulty from the grasp of this impetuous lover. "Faith! it's anither
warnin' this no' to parley at nicht wi' onything less than twa or three
inch o' oak dale atween ye and herm."

"Cut clavers and tell me what ails your mistress!"

"Oh, weel; she hisna come oot the nicht," said Mungo, waving his arms to
bring the whole neighbourhood as witness of the obvious fact.

The Chamberlain thrust at his chest and nearly threw him over.

"Ye dull-witted Lowland brock!" said he; "have I no' the use of my own
eyes? Give me another word but what I want and I'll slash ye smaller
than ye are already with my Ferrara."

"Oh, I'm no' that wee!" said Mungo. "If ye wad jist bide cool--"

"'Cool' quo' he! Man! I'm up to the neck in fire. Where is she?"

"Whaur ony decent lass should be at this 'oor o' the nicht--in her naked
bed."

"Say that again, you foul-mouthed dog o' Fife, and I'll gralloch