The Squire and Coristine were alone in the guard-room, save when Mrs. Carmichael put her head in to ask after the welfare of the party, especially of the older members.

“Grandfather knows campaigning and can take care of himself,” the Squire answered; “and the Captain’s used to out-door life; but there’s the minister now, puir man!  Weel, weel, Marjorie, when I gang the roonds, I’ll see if he needs onything.”

Then the pair chatted away, chiefly about the Grinstun man, whom Carruthers came to regard in the light of a spy.  Though surrounded on every side by suspicious circumstances, there was nothing definite against him, the nearest evidence to a conviction being the geological or mineralogical expressions which the unguarded dilapidated farmer on the way to the Beaver River had coupled with his name, and his own admissions to the spurious Miss Du Plessis.

“Maister Coristine,” said the Squire, “gin I thocht yon deevil, seein’ it’s Monday mornin’ the noo, was at the foondation o’ this ploy, I’d think naething o’ spendin’ five thoosand to pit an end til’s tricks.”

“All right, Squire; I think I’ll go into criminal law, and work it up for you.”

“What’s yon?  I maun gang out, for I hear Mr. Wilkinson calling me.”

The lawyer accompanied him to the door.  Nash was at the gate to report that he had seen small parties and single individuals, some distance off the road on both sides of the house, whose actions were more than suspicious.  Had they carried firearms larger than pistols he would have been sure to detect the gleam of steel.  He was sorry now he had drawn the fire of the waggon on himself, and thus given the miscreants to understand that their plot was known.  Still, they were at it, and meant mischief.  As he could do no further good patrolling the road, he would put up his horse, and help the Squire to guard the house and outbuildings.  Hardly was his horse in the stable, and himself in the guard-room, than Mr. Errol’s voice, and then the dominie’s, were heard challenging loudly.  The Squire flew to the minister, and Nash to Wilkinson.  A stout but elastic figure, so far as the step went, was coming along the road from the right, whistling “The Girl I left behind Me.”  As it came near, the whistling stopped, and Rawdon, with knapsack on back and staff in hand, appeared before the astonished eyes of the sentinels.  He started at the sight of the minister’s carbine.  “Wy, Mr. Herl,” he said, “wot the dooce are you a doin’ of at this time o’ night?  Are you lookin’ for night ’awks or howls hafter the chickins, or did you think I was a wistlin’ bear.  And you too, Squire!  I thought the Hinjins was all killed bout.  Blowed if there haint hold Favosites Wilkinsonia, and a man as looks like Chisholm!  Are you campin’ out, ‘avin’ summer midnight manoovers for the fun o’ the thing?”

Nash went back to the house.  “If it’s a fair question, Mr. Rawdon,” said the Squire, “where are you going at this time of night?”