Things had taken a bad turn, and
he was worse off for counsel than before. The enemy was in the house with
his sister, and he had no longer any chance of judging how matters were
going, as now he never rode out with her. But at least he could haunt the
house. He would run, therefore, to his grandfather, and tell him that he
was going to occupy his old quarters at the House that night.

Returning directly, and passing, as had been his custom, through the
kitchen to ascend the small corkscrew stair the servants generally used,
he encountered Mrs. Courthope, who told him that her ladyship had given
orders that her maid, who had come with Lady Bellair, should have his
room. He was at once convinced that Florimel had done so with the
intention of banishing him from the house, for there were dozens of rooms
vacant, and many of them more suitable. It was a hard blow. How he wished
for Mr. Graham to consult! And yet Mr. Graham was not of much use where
any sort of plotting was wanted. He asked Mrs. Courthope to let him have
another room, but she looked so doubtful that he withdrew his request and
went back to his grandfather.

It was Saturday, and not many of the boats would go fishing. Among the
rest, Findlay's would not leave the harbor till Sunday was over, and
therefore Malcolm was free. But he could not rest, and would go
line-fishing. "Daddy," he said, "I'm gaein oot to catch a haddick or sae
to oor denner the morn. Ye micht jist sit doon upo' ane o' the Boar's Taes
an' tak a play o' yer pipes. I'll hear ye fine, an' it'll du me guid."

The Boar's Toes were two or three small rocks that rose out of the sand
near the end of the dune. Duncan agreed right willingly, and Malcolm,
borrowing some lines and taking the Psyche's dinghy, rowed out into the
bay.

The sun was down, the moon was up, and he had caught more fish than he
wanted. His grandfather had got tired and gone home, and the fountain of
his anxious thoughts began to flow more rapidly. He must go ashore. He
must go up to the House: who could tell what might not be going on there?
He drew in his line, purposing to take the best of the fish to Miss Horn
and some to Mrs. Courthope, as in the old days.

The Psyche still lay on the sands, and he was rowing the dinghy toward
her, when, looking round to direct his course, he thought he caught a
glimpse of some one seated on the slope of the dune. Yes, there was some
one there, sure enough. The old times rushed back on