Deeply concerned for the newly-discovered misfortunes of the old man to whom he was indebted for this world’s life at least, he anxiously sought to soothe him; but he had far more and far worse to torment him than Malcolm even yet knew, and with burning cheeks and bloodshot eyes he lay tossing from side to side, now uttering terrible curses in Gaelic and now weeping bitterly.  Malcolm took his loved pipes, and with the gentlest notes he could draw from them tried to charm to rest the ruffled waters of his spirit; but his efforts were all in vain, and believing at length that he would be quieter without him, he went to the House and to his own room.

The door of the adjoining chamber stood open, and the long-forbidden room lay exposed to any eye.  Little did Malcolm think as he gazed around it that it was the room in which he had first breathed the air of the world; in which his mother had wept over her own false position and his reported death; and from which he had been carried, by Duncan’s wicked wife, down the ruinous stair and away to the lip of the sea, to find a home in the arms of the man whom he had just left on his lonely couch torn between the conflicting emotions of a gracious love for him and the frightful hate of her.

CHAPTER LXVII.

FEET OF WOOL.

The next day, Miss Horn, punctual as Fate, presented herself at Lossie House, and was shown at once into the marquis’s study, as it was called.  When his lordship entered she took the lead the moment the door was shut.  “By this time, my lord, ye’ll doobtless hae made up yer min’ to du what’s richt?” she said.

“That’s what I have always wanted to do,” returned the marquis.

“Hm!” remarked Miss Horn as plainly as inarticulately.

“In this affair,” he supplemented; adding, “It’s not always so easy to tell what is right.”

“It’s no aye easy to luik for ‘t wi’ baith yer een,” said Miss Horn.

“This woman Catanach—­we must get her to give credible testimony.  Whatever the fact may be, we must have strong evidence.  And there comes the difficulty, that she has already made an altogether different statement.”

“It gangs for naething, my lord.  It was never made afore a justice o’ the peace.”

“I wish you would go to her and see how she is inclined.”

“Me gang to Bawbie Catanach!” exclaimed Miss Horn.  “I wad as sune gang an’ kittle Sawtan’s nose wi’ the p’int o’ ’s tail.  Na, na, my lord.  Gien onybody gang till her wi’ my wull, it s’ be a limb o’ the law.  I s’ hae nae cognostin’ wi’ her.”

“You would have no objection, however; to my seeing her, I presume—­just to let her know that we have an inkling of the truth?” said the marquis.

Now, all this was the merest talk, for of course Miss Horn could not long remain in ignorance of the declaration her fury had, the night previous, forced from Mrs. Catanach; but he must, he thought, put her off and keep her quiet, if possible, until he had come to an understanding with Malcolm, after which he would no doubt have his trouble with her.