is
loaded revolver, he stepped out of the window on to the sloping verandah
roof, off which, in spite of his efforts, he slid heavily to the ground.
At once he was seized with no gentle hands by at least three persons,
who turned out to be Mr. Hill, the colonel, and Maguffin. "Catch that
boy," he cried, as soon as they perceived their mistake, referring to a
juvenile figure that he had seen slipping back towards the meadow.
Sentry Hislop would probably have caught him, but there was no
necessity. The idiot boy was in the arms of his wakeful mother, who,
thinking he was going to Rawdon's quarters, as he probably was,
intercepted him, saying: "Not back there, Monty, no, no, never again!"
So deeply had his unnatural father, with brutal threats, impressed the
lesson of incendiarism upon the lad that, all mechanically, he had
repeated the attempt of the previous night. Fortunately for Coristine's
hands, there was a garden rake at hand to draw out from under the
verandah two kitchen towels, well steeped in coal oil, the fierce flame
from which had already charred three or four planks of the floor. Two
pails of water relieved all apprehensions; but the Squire awoke Sylvanus
and ordered him to take Monty into his room, and, with his companions,
be responsible for his safe keeping. Then, turning to the lawyer, and
laying a friendly hand on his shoulder, he said: "If ye canna sleep, ye
had better come in and tak' the Captain's chair; he's awa til 's bed,
puir man." So Coristine entered the porch, and, as he did so, heard a
voice above say: "No, Cecile, it is not your hero; it is mine again."
"What are thae lassies gabbin' aboot at this time o' nicht?" said the
Squire, harder of hearing. "Gang awa to the land o' Nod, and dinna spoil
your beauty sleep, young leddies." The apostrophized damsels laughed
lightly, whispered a few more confidences, and then relapsed into
silence. John Carruthers had a high opinion of his niece, and said some
very nice things about her, but, so far short did they fall of the
lawyer's standard of appreciation, that he regarded them almost as
desecrations. Still, it was very pleasant to be on such friendly terms
with the Squire of the neighbourhood, the master of hospitable
Bridesdale; and Miss Carmichael's uncle. "A splendid honest fellow," he
said to himself, "as good every bit as Wilks' foreign aristocracy!" From
time to time the colonel looked in upon the pair, and remarked that the
contents of the Squi