d man's great satisfaction, that, had he not found him there, he would
within another month have set out to roam Scotland in search of him.

Miss Horn had heard of their arrival, and was wandering about the house,
unable even to sit down until she saw the marquis. To herself she always
called him the marquis: to his face he was always Ma'colm. If he had not
come she declared she could not have gone to bed; yet she received him
with an edge to her welcome: he had to answer for his behavior. They sat
down, and Duncan told a long sad story; which finished, with the toddy
that had sustained him during the telling, the old man thought it
better, for fear of annoying his Mistress Partan, to go home. As it was
past one o'clock, they both agreed.

"And if she'll tie to-night, my poy," said Duncan, "she'll pe lie awake
in her crave all ta long tarkness to pe waiting to hear ta voice of your
worrts in ta morning. And nefer you mind, Malcolm, she'll has learned to
forgive you for peing only ta one-half of yourself a cursed Cam'ell."

Miss Horn gave Malcolm a wink, as much as to say, "Let the old man talk:
it will hurt no Campbell;" and showed him out with much attention.

And then at last Malcolm poured out his whole story, and his heart with
it, to Miss Horn, who heard and received it with understanding, and a
sympathy which grew ever as she listened. At length she declared herself
perfectly satisfied, for not only had he done his best, but she did not
see what else he could have done. She hoped, however, that now he would
contrive to get this part over as quickly as possible, for which in the
morning she would show him cogent reasons.

"I hae no feelin's mysel', as ye weel ken, Ma'colm," she remarked in
conclusion, "an' I doobt, gien I had been i' your place, I wad na hae
luikit ta a' sides o' the thing at ance, as ye hae dune. An' it was a
man like you 'at sae near lost yer life for the hizzy!" she exclaimed.
"I maunna think aboot it, or I winna sleep a wink. But we maun get that
deevil Catanach (an' cat eneuch!) hangt.--Weel, my man, ye may haud up
yer heid afore the father o' ye, for ye're the first o' the race, I'm
thinkin', 'at ever was near han' deein' for anither. But mak ye a speedy
en' till 't noo, laad, an' fa' to the lave o' yer wark. There's a
terrible heap to be dune. But I maun haud my tongue the nicht, for I wad
fain ye had a guid sleep; an' I'm needin' ane sair mysel', for I'm no
sae yoong as I ance was; an' I