s mother's chamber and knocked, and
old Janet, a retainer of many years, came out to him.

"Alas!" said she, "my lady your mother is passing ill, and she hath
spoken never a word these many hours. We have sent forth a messenger to
Elspeth Blackfell, who is skilled beyond all in Bute for her craft in
simples. But Elspeth was abroad, and the messenger returned without her."

"Then will I go myself and find her," said Kenric.

So he went down into the courtyard and called his favourite hound
Fingall, that he might have companionship in his quest. But the dog gave
no answer to his call, and searching for it he found the animal lying
moaning in a corner of the yard and writhing as in pain.

"The dog well knows that our master, Earl Hamish, is dead," said one of
the servitors. "Grief is killing him."

"Not so," said Kenric. "The dog is ill. What manner of food has he eaten?"

"Naught save the few scraps of venison that my lady left upon her plate
after the feast," said the servitor.

"Methinks, then," said Kenric, "that I must even go alone. But see you
that my poor friend is well tended, for even though he be but a dumb
hound, he is a true and a faithful one, and I would not that he should die."

Now, as he walked over the hill of Barone, Kenric thought upon this
strange illness that had befallen his dog; and suddenly, as though a
light had flashed into his mind, he remembered how Alpin had told him of
the feast, and of how Earl Roderic, sitting at my lady's side, had cut
up her venison for her; and also of how my lady, ere she had eaten but a
few pieces of the venison, had left the board. It was the same plateful
of venison that the dog had eaten, and now both the Lady Adela and the
dog were ill.

Then Kenric saw clearly that this was but another of the base schemes of
his treacherous uncle, who, not yet certain by what means he should
compass the death of Earl Hamish, had taken this poisonous course to
assure himself that the Lady Adela should be ill on that night, and
powerless to interfere in the crime that was in his mind.

"Oh, devil's messenger, or devil himself that thou art!" he cried.
"Cursed be the hour that brought you in our midst, Roderic MacAlpin. You
have slain my father, you have slain my brother; my dear mother is now
by your cruel hand laid helpless on her couch. But by my father's soul
and by my mother's blessing, I swear that you shall die. By my hand and
none other you shall perish! Oh, God in