The marquis uttered an oath and left the door.  Miss Horn sprang to it, but there was the marquis again.  “Miss Horn,” he said, “I beg you will give me another day to think of this.”

“Whaur’s the use?  A’ the thinkin’ i’ the warl’ canna alter a single fac’.  Ye maun do richt by my laddie o’ yer ainsel’, or I maun gar ye.”

“You would find a lawsuit heavy, Miss Horn.”

“An’ ye wad fin’ the scandal o’ ’t ill to bide, my lord.  It wad come sair upo’ Miss—­I kenna what name she has a richt till, my lord.”

The marquis uttered a frightful imprecation, left the door, and, sitting down, hid his face in his hands.

Miss Horn rose, but instead of securing her retreat, approached him gently and stood by his side.  “My lord,” she said, “I canna thole to see a man in tribble.  Women’s born till ‘t, an’ they tak it an’ are thankfu’; but a man never gies in till ‘t, an’ sae it comes harder upo’ him nor upo’ them.  Hear me, my lord:  gien there be a man upo’ this earth wha wad shield a woman, that man’s Ma’colm Colonsay.”

“If only she weren’t his sister!” murmured the marquis.

“An’ jist bethink ye, my lord:  wad it be onything less nor an imposition to lat a man merry her ohn tellt him what she was?”

“You insolent old woman!” cried the marquis, losing his temper, discretion and manners all together.  “Go and do your worst, and be damned to you!”

So saying, he left the room, and Miss Horn found her way out of the house in a temper quite as fierce as his—­in character, however, entirely different, inasmuch as it was righteous.

At that very moment Malcolm was in search of his master, and seeing the back of him disappear in the library, to which he had gone in a half-blind rage, he followed him.  “My lord!” he said.

“What do you want?” returned his master in a rage.  For some time he had been hauling on the curb-rein, which had fretted his temper the more, and when he let go the devil ran away with him.

“I thoucht yer lordship wad like to see an auld stair I cam upo’ the ither day, ’at gangs frae the wizard’s chaumer—­”

“Go to hell with your damned tomfoolery!” said the marquis.  “If ever you mention that cursed hole again I’ll kick you out of the house.”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed and a fierce answer rose to his lips, but he had seen that his master was in trouble, and sympathy supplanted rage.  He turned and left the room in silence.

Lord Lossie paced up and down the library for a whole hour—­a long time for him to be in one mood.  The mood changed color pretty frequently during the hour, however, and by degrees his wrath assuaged.  But at the end of it he knew no more what he was going to do than when he left Miss Horn in the study.  Then came the gnawing of his usual ennui and restlessness:  he must find something to do.

The thing he always thought of first was a ride, but the only animal of horse-kind about the place which he liked was the bay mare, and her he had lamed.  He would go and see what the rascal had come bothering about—­alone, though, for he could not endure the sight of the fisher-fellow, damn him!