window on to the sloping verandah roof, off which, in spite of his efforts, he slid heavily to the ground.  At once he was seized with no gentle hands by at least three persons, who turned out to be Mr. Hill, the colonel, and Maguffin.  “Catch that boy,” he cried, as soon as they perceived their mistake, referring to a juvenile figure that he had seen slipping back towards the meadow.  Sentry Hislop would probably have caught him, but there was no necessity.  The idiot boy was in the arms of his wakeful mother, who, thinking he was going to Rawdon’s quarters, as he probably was, intercepted him, saying:  “Not back there, Monty, no, no, never again!” So deeply had his unnatural father, with brutal threats, impressed the lesson of incendiarism upon the lad that, all mechanically, he had repeated the attempt of the previous night.  Fortunately for Coristine’s hands, there was a garden rake at hand to draw out from under the verandah two kitchen towels, well steeped in coal oil, the fierce flame from which had already charred three or four planks of the floor.  Two pails of water relieved all apprehensions; but the Squire awoke Sylvanus and ordered him to take Monty into his room, and, with his companions, be responsible for his safe keeping.  Then, turning to the lawyer, and laying a friendly hand on his shoulder, he said:  “If ye canna sleep, ye had better come in and tak’ the Captain’s chair; he’s awa til ’s bed, puir man.”  So Coristine entered the porch, and, as he did so, heard a voice above say:  “No, Cecile, it is not your hero; it is mine again.”  “What are thae lassies gabbin’ aboot at this time o’ nicht?” said the Squire, harder of hearing.  “Gang awa to the land o’ Nod, and dinna spoil your beauty sleep, young leddies.”  The apostrophized damsels laughed lightly, whispered a few more confidences, and then relapsed into silence.  John Carruthers had a high opinion of his niece, and said some very nice things about her, but, so far short did they fall of the lawyer’s standard of appreciation, that he regarded them almost as desecrations.  Still, it was very pleasant to be on such friendly terms with the Squire of the neighbourhood, the master of hospitable Bridesdale; and Miss Carmichael’s uncle.  “A splendid honest fellow,” he said to himself, “as good every bit as Wilks’ foreign aristocracy!” From time to time the colonel looked in upon the pair, and remarked that the contents of the Squire’s decanter pleased him as well as Bourbon or Monongahela.

When daylight came, the weary sentries were dismissed to the kitchen, where, under Tryphena’s direction, the insane woman took much pleasure in providing for their creature comforts.  The restraints upon Mr. Maguffin’s eloquence being removed, it flowed in a grandiloquent stream.  “Lave the cratur to me, Annerew,” whispered Mr. Hill; “lave the nagur to me, and if I don’t flummix and flabbergast his consayted voccabuelary, I was never a taycher.”  Then, turning to the coloured gentleman, he remarked in an incidental sort of way:  “Were you ever in the company of deipnosophists before, Mr. Magoffin, deipnosophists mind! enjoyin’ a gastromical repast?”