re of the lad, who was no taller than many boys of twelve or
fourteen. But there was a depth of melancholy in those dark brown eyes,
that went far into the heart of any one who had the power to be touched
with their yearning, appealing, almost piteous gaze, as though their
owner had come into a world that was much too hard for him, and were
looking out in bewilderment and entreaty for some haven of peace.

He had stood for some minutes looking thoughtfully into the fire, and the
sadness of his expression ever deepening, before the old man raised his
face, and said, 'You here, Malcolm? where are the others?'

'Patie and Lily are still on the turret-top, fair Uncle,' returned the
boy. 'It was so cold;' and he shivered again, and seemed as though he
would creep into the fire.

'And the reek?' asked the uncle.

'There is another reek broken out farther west,' replied Malcolm. 'Patie
is sure now that it is as you deemed, Uncle; that it is a cattle-lifting
from Badenoch.'

'Heaven help them!' sighed the old man, again folding his hands in
prayer. 'How long, O Lord, how long?'

Malcolm took up the appeal of the Psalm, repeating it in Latin, but with
none the less fervency; that Psalm that has ever since David's time
served as the agonized voice of hearts hot-burning at the sight of wrong.

'Ah yes,' he ended, 'there is nothing else for it! Uncle, this was
wherefore I came. It was to speak to you of my purpose.'

'The old purpose, Malcolm? Nay, that hath been answered before.'

'But listen, listen, dear Uncle. I have not spoken of it for a full year
now. So that you cannot say it is the caresses of the good monks. No,
nor the rude sayings of the Master of Albany,' he added, colouring at a
look of his uncle. 'You bade me say no more till I be of full age; nor
would I, save that I were safe lodged in an abbey; then might Patrick and
Lily be wedded, and he not have to leave us and seek his fortune far away
in France; and in Patie's hands and leading, my vassals might be safe;
but what could the doited helpless cripple do?' he added, the colour
rising hotly to his cheek with pain and shame. 'Oh, Sir, let me but save
my soul, and find peace in Coldingham!'

'My poor bairn,' said his uncle, laying a kind hand upon him, as in his
eagerness he knelt on one knee beside the chair, 'it must not be. It is
true that the Regent and his sons would willingly see you in a cloister.
Nay, that unmanly jeer of Walter Stewart