's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate.
Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
of years.

Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at
it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.

"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victorie!'"

The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering
at the door, screaming his war-song.

The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by
the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and
piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child.

Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried
a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
David.

James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
dishevelled figure below him.

M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook
his weapon up at his foe.

"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a'
let's settle oor account."

The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
man's brain had gone.

"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
time.

"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He crosses me in
ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin
me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--"

"Coom, then, coom! I'll--"

"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've
took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'?
Where's yer--"

The Master interposed again:

"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly. But
before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder
and ai