ll in vain, so far as Mr. Kennedy and his offence had
been concerned. As soon as the pistol had been fired and Phineas
had escaped from the room, the unfortunate man had sunk back in
his chair, conscious of what he had done, knowing that he had
made himself subject to the law, and expecting every minute that
constables would enter the room to seize him. He had seen his enemy's
hat lying on the floor, and, when nobody would come to fetch it, had
thrown it down the stairs. After that he had sat waiting for the
police, with the pistol, still loaded in every barrel but one, lying
by his side,--hardly repenting the attempt, but trembling for the
result,--till Macpherson, the landlord, who had been brought home
from chapel, knocked at his door. There was very little said between
them; and no positive allusion was made to the shot that had been
fired; but Macpherson succeeded in getting the pistol into his
possession,--as to which the unfortunate man put no impediment in his
way, and he managed to have it understood that Mr. Kennedy's cousin
should be summoned on the following morning. "Is anybody else
coming?" Robert Kennedy asked, when the landlord was about to leave
the room. "Naebody as I ken o', yet, laird," said Macpherson, "but
likes they will." Nobody, however, did come, and the "laird" had
spent the evening by himself in very wretched solitude.

On the following day the cousin had come, and to him the whole story
was told. After that, no difficulty was found in taking the miserable
man back to Loughlinter, and there he had been for the last two
months in the custody of his more wretched mother and of his cousin.
No legal steps had been taken to deprive him of the management either
of himself or of his property,--so that he was in truth his own
master. And he exercised his mastery in acts of petty tyranny about
his domain, becoming more and more close-fisted in regard to money,
and desirous, as it appeared, of starving all living things about the
place,--cattle, sheep, and horses, so that the value of their food
might be saved. But every member of the establishment knew that the
laird was "nae just himself", and consequently his orders were not
obeyed. And the laird knew the same of himself, and, though he would
give the orders not only resolutely, but with imperious threats of
penalties to follow disobedience, still he did not seem to expect
compliance. While he was in this state, letters addressed to him came
for a