go followed the old man without another question. He looked haggard
and wearied; his clothes were wet, torn and soiled; his very hair was
damp, and his boots were soaked and burst as though from a long day's
tramp. Mrs. Shairp, the housekeeper, with whom he was a favourite,
uttered a startled exclamation at his appearance.

"Guid guide us, sirs! and whaur hae ye been hidin' yoursel' a' this day
an' nicht, Mr. Hugo? We've baen sair trouble i' th' hoose, and naebody
kent your whaurabouts. Bairn! but ye're just droukit! Whaur hae you
hidden yoursel' then?"

"Hidden!" Hugo repeated, catching at one of the good woman's words and
ignoring the others. "I've not hidden anywhere. I've been over the hills
a bit--that's all. What is the matter?"

He seated himself in the old woman's cushioned chair, and leaned forward
to warm himself at the fire as he spoke, holding out first one hand and
then the other to the leaping blaze.

"How will I tell you?" said Mrs. Shairp, relapsing into the tears she
had been shedding for the last two hours or more. "Is it possible that
ye've heard naething ava? The laird--Netherglen himsel'--oor
maister--and have you heard naething aboot him as you cam doun by the
muir? I'd hae thocht shame to let you gang hame unkent, if I had been
Jenny Burns at the lodge."

"I did not come that way," said Hugo, impatiently. "What is the matter
with the laird?"

"Maitter?--maitter wi' the laird? The laird's deid, laddie, and a gude
freend was he to me and mine, and to your ain sei' forbye, and the hale
kintra side will be at the buryin'," said the housekeeper, shaking her
head solemnly. "An' if that were na enow for my poor mistress there's a
waur thing to follow. The laird's fa'en by his ain brither's han's. Mr.
Brian shot him this verra nicht, as they cam' thro' the wud."

"By mistake, Mrs. Shairp, by mistake," murmured William Whale. But Hugo
lifted his haggard face, which looked very pale in the glow of the
firelight.

"You can't mean what you are saying," he said, in a hoarse, unnatural
voice. "Richard? Richard--dead! Oh, it must be impossible!"

"True, sir, as gospel," said Mrs. Shairp, touched by the ring of pain
that came into the young man's voice as he spoke. "At half-past eight,
by the clock, they brought the laird hame stiff and stark, cauld as a
stane a'ready. The mistress is clean daft wi' sorrow; an' I doot but Mr.
Brian will hae a sair time o't wi' her and the bonny young leddy that's
left