for that purpose
chiefly I came back again."

"Came back again!" said Mrs. Dods.--"I profess ye made me start, Maister
Tirl, and you looking sae pale, too.--But I think," she added, straining
after a joke, "if ye were a ghaist, seeing we are such auld
acquaintance, ye wadna wish to spoil my custom, but would just walk
decently up and down the auld castle wa's, or maybe down at the kirk
yonder--there have been awfu' things done in that kirk and kirkyard--I
whiles dinna like to look that way, Maister Francie."

"I am much of your mind, mistress," said Tyrrel, with a sigh; "and,
indeed, I do in one resemble the apparitions you talk of; for, like
them, and to as little purpose, I stalk about scenes where my happiness
departed.--But I speak riddles to you, Mrs. Dods--the plain truth is,
that I met with an accident on the day I last left your house, the
effects of which detained me at some distance from St. Ronan's till this
very day."

"Hegh, sirs, and ye were sparing of your trouble, that wadna write a bit
line, or send a bit message!--Ye might hae thought folk wad hae been
vexed eneugh about ye, forby undertaking journeys, and hiring folk to
seek for your dead body."

"I shall willingly pay all reasonable charges which my disappearance may
have occasioned," answered her guest; "and I assure you, once for all,
that my remaining for some time quiet at Marchthorn, arose partly from
illness, and partly from business of a very pressing and particular
nature."

"At Marchthorn!" exclaimed Dame Dods, "heard ever man the like o'
that!--And where did ye put up in Marchthorn, an ane may mak' bauld to
speer?"

"At the Black Bull," replied Tyrrel.

"Ay, that's auld Tam Lowrie's--a very decent man, Thamas--and a douce
creditable house--nane of your flisk-ma-hoys--I am glad ye made choice
of sic gude quarters, neighbour; for I am beginning to think ye are but
a queer ane--ye look as if butter wadna melt in your mouth, but I sall
warrant cheese no choke ye.--But I'll thank ye to gang your ways into
the parlour, for I am no like to get muckle mair out o' ye, it's like;
and ye are standing here just in the gate, when we hae the supper to
dish."

Tyrrel, glad to be released from the examination to which his landlady's
curiosity had without ceremony subjected him, walked into the parlour,
where he was presently joined by Mr. Touchwood, newly attired, and in
high spirits.

"Here comes our supper!" he exclaimed.--"Sit ye down, and