d by a woman's hands--the woman herself unseen. The
incident recalled an old exploit of his own in Marney, and a flood of
humorous memories of amorous intrigue.

"Mademoiselle Annapla," said he whimsically, "has a lover, and here's
his signal. The Baron's daughter? The Baron's niece? The Baron's ward?
Or merely the Baron's domestic? M. Bethune's document suffers infernally
from the fault of being too curt. He might at least have indicated the
fair recluse."

CHAPTER IV -- WANTED, A SPY

The wail of a mountain pipe, poorly played, as any one accustomed to its
strains would have admitted, even if the instrument was one he loved,
and altogether execrable in the ears of Montaiglon, called him to the
_salle_, where Doom joined him in a meal whereof good Mungo's jugged
hare formed no part. Mungo, who had upheld ancient ceremony by his crude
performance on the _piob mhor_, was the attendant upon the table,--an
office he undertook with his bonnet on his head, "in token," as his
master whisperingty explained to Count Victor, "of his sometimes
ill-informed purpose of conducting every formal task in Doom upon the
strict letter of military codes as pertained in camps, garrisons,
and strongholds." It was amusing to witness the poor fellow's pompous
precision of movement as he stood behind his master's chair or helped
the guest to his humble meal; the rigidity of his inactive moments, or
the ridiculous jerkiness with which he passed a platter as 'twere to the
time of a drill-sergeant's baton. More amusing still to one able, like
Count Victor, to enter into the humour of the experience, was it to have
his garrulity get the better of him in spite of the military punctilio.

"The Baron was telling me aboot your exploit wi' the Loch Sloy pairty.
Man! did I no' think ye had come by boat," he whispered over a tendered
ale-glass. "It was jist my luck to miss sic a grand ploy. I wad hae
backed ye to haud the water against Black Andy and all his clan, and
they're no' slack at a tulzie."

"Ye may be grand in a fight, Mungo, but only a middling man at forage,"
interrupted his master. "I think ye said jugged hare?"

"It wasna my faut," explained the domestic, "that ye havena what was
steepulated; the Baron wadna bide till the beast was cooked."

Doom laughed. "Come, come, Mungo," said he, "the Count could scarcely
be expected to wait for the cooking of an animal running wild in the
bracken twenty minutes ago."

"Oh, it disna tak'