Malcolm

"What do you suppose she was about?" he asked.

"I ken nae mair than the bonnet I flang in her face, my lord; but it could hardly be guid she was efter. At ony rate, seein' yer lordship pat me in a mainner in chairge, I bude to haud her oot o' a closed room—an' her gaein' creepin' aboot yer lordship's hoose like a worm."

"Quite right. Will you pull the bell there for me?"

He told the man to send Mrs Courthope; but he said she had not yet come home from church.

"Could you take me to the room, MacPhail?" asked his lordship.

"I'll try, my lord," answered Malcolm. As far as the proper quarter of the attics, he went straight as a pigeon; in that labyrinth he had to retrace his steps once or twice, but at length he stopped, and said confidently—"This is the door, my lord."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure's death, my lord."

The marquis tried the door and found it immovable. "You say she had the key?"

"No, my lord: I said she had keys, but whether she had the key, I doobt if she kent hersel'. It may ha' been ane o' the bundle yet to try."

"You're a sharp fellow," said the marquis. "I wish I had such a servant about me."

"I wad mak a some rouch ane, I doobt," returned Malcolm, laughing.

His lordship was of another mind, but pursued the subject no farther.

"I have a vague recollection," he said, "of some room in the house having an old story or legend connected with it. I must find out. I daresay Mrs Courthope knows. Meantime you hold your tongue. We may get some amusement out of this."

"I wull, my lord, like a deid man an' beeryt."

"You can—can you?"

"I can, my lord."

"You're a rare one!" said the marquis.

Malcolm thought he was making game of him as heretofore, and held his peace.

"You can go home now," said his lordship. "I will see to this affair."

"But jist be canny middlin' wi' Mistress Catanach, my lord: she's no mowse."

"What! you're not afraid of an old woman?"

"Deil a bit, my lord!—that is, no feart at a dogfish or a rottan, but I wud tak tent an' grip them the richt gait, for they hae teeth. Some fowk think Mistress Catanach has mair teeth nor she shaws."

"Well, if she's too much for me, I'll send for you," said the marquis good humouredly.

"Ye canna get me sae easy, my lord: we're efter the herrin' noo."

"Well, well, we'll see."

"But I wantit to tell ye anither thing my lord," said Malcolm, as he followed the marquis down the stairs.

"What is that?"

"I cam upo' anither plot—a mair serious ane, bein' against a man 'at can ill haud aff o' himsel', an' cud waur bide onything than yer lordship—the puir mad laird."

"Who's he?"

"Ilka body kens him, my lord! He's son to the leddy o' Kirkbyres."

"I remember her—an old flame of my brother's."

"I ken naething aboot that, my lord; but he's her son."

"What about him, then?"

They had now reached the hall, and, seeing the marquis impatient, Malcolm confined himself to the principal facts.

"I don't think you had any business to interfere, MacPhail," said his lordship, seriously. "His mother must know best."

" no sae sure o' that, my lord! To say naething o' the ill guideship, which micht hae 'garred a minister sweer, it wud be a cruelty naething short o' deev'lich to lock up a puir hairmless cratur like that, as innocent as he 's ill shapit."

"He's as God made him," said the marquis.

"He 's no as God wull mak him," returned Malcolm.

"What do you mean by that?" asked the marquis.

"It stan's to rizzon, my lord," answered Malcolm, "that what's ill made maun be made ower again. There's a day comin' whan a' 'at's wrang 'll be set richt, ye ken."

"And the crooked made straight," suggested the marquis laughing.

"Doobtless, my lord. He'll be strauchtit oot bonny that day," said Malcolm with absolute seriousness.

"Bah! You don't think God cares about a misshapen lump of flesh like that!" exclaimed his lordship with contempt.

"As muckle's aboot yersel', or my leddy," said Malcolm. "Gien he didna, he wadna be nae God ava' (at all)."

The marquis laughed again: he heard the words with his ears, but his heart was deaf to the thought they clothed; hence he took Malcolm's earnestness for irreverence, and it amused him.

"You've not got to set things right, anyhow," he said. "You mind your own business."

"I'll try, my lord: it 's the business o' ilka man, whaur he can, to lowse the weichty birns, an' lat the forfouchten gang free. Guid day to ye, my lord."

So saying the young fisherman turned, and left the marquis laughing in the hall.

CHAPTER XXVII: LORD GERNON