--"

"Yes, to-night," said The Mackhai hastily; and he left the room,
thankful for the ray of light which had come into his darkening life,
but hurrying back, to find Kenneth holding tightly by Max's hand as he
kept on talking, while the doctor was letting a few drops fall from a
little bottle he had brought, into a glass of water.

"There," he said, "we'll get him to take that, and I think we shall get
some sleep afterwards. To-morrow we must hope for better things."

But the morrow came, and the hope was not fulfilled. Kenneth Mackhai,
in spite of his youth and strength, was dangerously ill, and the
doctor's face wore an anxious look.

"I have ordered my men to have everything ready for you, Mr Curzon,"
said The Mackhai, with enforced calmness; and Max darted an angry glance
on the man who could think of sport at a time like that.

"What, to fish, Mr Mackhai?" said the doctor quickly. "No, thank you;
I'll wait till I can go more at ease."

"Thank you," said The Mackhai, in a husky voice; and Max darted now a
grateful look. "But pray speak plainly to me: you think my poor boy
very bad?"

"Yes, sir, very bad indeed; but, please God, we'll pull him through."

The Mackhai drew a long and painful breath, and, as Max looked towards
him, he thought he had never seen so sad a countenance before.

He stole out on tip-toe, for it seemed to him that he was not wanted
there; but, as he reached the landing, The Mackhai touched him on the
shoulder:

"Come back soon," he whispered. "Kenneth seems more restful while you
are here."

Max nodded silently, and hurried down to talk for a few moments with
Tavish and Scoodrach of the patient's state. Then he hurried back,
thinking, as he went up to Kenneth's room, that it must be months since
he came, and he wondered how it was that he could feel so much at home.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE DOCTOR'S TASK DONE.

A fortnight's terrible anxiety, during which Max rarely left Kenneth's
room. Every morning, though, it grew into a custom that he should go
down to the old castle yard, where Tavish, Long Shon, old Donald, and
Scoody were always waiting to hear his report of the patient's progress.

"An' has she askit for the pipes?" old Donald whispered mysteriously;
and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he looked reproachfully at
the speaker. "She's waiting and retty," he would say; "and a good lilt
on ta pipes would do her all ta petter as ta physic stuff."

At