but both continued silent. The still, thoughtful moon-night
seemed to press them close together, but neither knew that the other felt
the same.

They reached a point in the road where another step would bring them in
sight of the house.

"You cannot go wrong now, my lady," said Malcolm. "If you please I will go
no farther."

"Do you not live in the house?" she asked.

"I used to do as I liked, and could be there or with my grandfather. I did
mean to be at the House to-night, but my lady has given my room to her
maid."

"What! that woman Caley?"

"I suppose so, my lady. I must sleep to-night in the village. If you
could, my lady--" he added, after a pause, and faltered, hesitating. She
did not help him, but waited. "If you could--if you would not be
displeased at my asking you," he resumed--"if you _could_ keep my lady
from going farther with that--I shall call him names if I go on."

"It is a strange request," Clementina replied after a moment's reflection.
"I hardly know, as the guest of Lady Lossie, what answer I ought to make
to it. One thing I will say, however, that, though you may know more of
the man than I, you can hardly dislike him more. Whether I can interfere
is another matter. Honestly, I do not think it would be of any use. But I
do not say I will not. Good-night."

She hurried away, and did not again offer her hand.

Malcolm walked back through the tunnel, his heart singing and making
melody. Oh how lovely--how more than lovely, how divinely beautiful--she
was! And so kind and friendly! Yet she seemed just the least bit fitful
too. Something troubled her, he said to himself. But he little thought
that he, and no one else, had spoiled the moonlight for her. He went home
to glorious dreams--she to a troubled, half-wakeful night. Not until she
had made up her mind to do her utmost to rescue Florimel from Liftore,
even if it gave her to Malcolm, did she find a moment's quiet. It was
morning then, but she fell fast asleep, slept late and woke refreshed.

CHAPTER LXIII.

CONFESSION OF SIN.

Mr. Crathie was slowly recovering, but still very weak. He did not, after
having turned the corner, get well so fast as his medical minister judged
he ought, and the reason was plain to Lizzy, dimly perceptible to his
wife: he was ill at ease. A man may have more mind and more conscience,
and more discomfort in both or either, than his neighbors give him credit
for. They may be in the right about him u