“Don’t strike him with your stick,” I cried, throwing my arms over the faithful creature.  “He is a powerful animal, and if you provoke him, he will kill you.”

I at last succeeded in coaxing Hector into the girl’s room, where I shut him up, while the stranger came into the kitchen, and walked to the fire to dry his wet clothes.

I immediately went into the parlour, where Moodie was lying upon a bed near the stove, to deliver the stranger’s message; but before I could say a word, he dashed in after me, and going up to the bed, held out his broad, coarse hand, with “How are you, Mr. Moodie?  You see I have accepted your kind invitation sooner than either you or I expected.  If you will give me house-room for the night, I shall be obliged to you.”

This was said in a low, mysterious voice; and Moodie, who was still struggling with the hot fit of his disorder, and whose senses were not a little confused, stared at him with a look of vague bewilderment.  The countenance of the stranger grew dark.

“You cannot have forgotten me—­my name is Malcolm.”

“Yes, sir; I remember you now,” said the invalid holding out his burning, feverish hand.  “To my home, such as it is, you are welcome.”

I stood by in wondering astonishment, looking from one to the other, as I had no recollection of ever hearing my husband mention the name of the stranger; but as he had invited him to share our hospitality, I did my best to make him welcome though in what manner he was to be accommodated puzzled me not a little.  I placed the arm-chair by the fire, and told him that I would prepare tea for him as soon as I could.

“It may be as well to tell you, Mrs. Moodie,” said he sulkily, for he was evidently displeased by my husband’s want of recognition on his first entrance, “that I have had no dinner.”

I signed to myself, for I well knew that our larder boasted of no dainties; and from the animal expression of our guest’s face, I rightly judged that he was fond of good living.

By the time I had fried a rasher of salt pork, and made a pot of dandelion coffee, the bread I had been preparing was baked; but grown flour will not make light bread, and it was unusually heavy.  For the first time I felt heartily ashamed of our humble fare.  I was sure that he for whom it was provided was not one to pass it over in benevolent silence.  “He might be a gentleman,” I thought, “but he does not look like one;” and a confused idea of who he was, and where Moodie had met him, began to float through my mind.  I did not like the appearance of the man, but I consoled myself that he was only to stay for one night, and I could give up my bed for that one night, and sleep on a bed on the floor by my sick husband.  When I re-entered the parlour to cover the table, I found Moodie fallen asleep, and Mr. Malcolm reading.  As I placed the tea-things on the table, he raised his head, and regarded me with a gloomy stare.  He was a strange-looking