unaccustomed. His head kept tossing from side to side and his eyes
seemed searching in vacancy.

"Has the doctor been to see 'im, mem?" asked Malcolm.

"Yes, but he says he can't do anything for him."

"Wha waits upon 'im, mem?"

"One of the maids and myself."

"I'll jist bide wi' 'im."

"That will be very kind of you."

"I s' bide wi' 'im till I see 'im oot o' this, ae w'y or ither,",
added Malcolm, and sat down by the bedside of his poor distrustful
friend. There Mrs. Stewart left him.

The laird was wandering in the thorny thickets and slimy marshes
which, haunted by the thousand misshapen horrors of delirium, beset
the gates of life. That one so near the light and slowly drifting into
it should lie tossing in hopeless darkness! Is it that the delirium
falls, a veil of love, to hide other and more real terrors?

His eyes would now and then meet those of Malcolm as they gazed
tenderly upon him, but the living thing that looked out of the windows
was darkened and saw him not. Occasionally a word would fall from him,
or a murmur of half-articulation float up like the sound of a river
of souls; but whether Malcolm heard, or only seemed to hear, something
like this, he could not tell, for he could not be certain that he had
not himself shaped the words by receiving the babble into the moulds
of the laird's customary thought and speech: "I dinna ken whaur I cam
frae--I kenna whaur I'm gaein' till.--Eh, gien He wad but come oot an'
shaw Himsel'!--O Lord! tak the deevil aff o' my puir back.--O Father
o' lichts! gar him tak the hump wi' him. I hae no fawvor for't, though
it's been my constant compainion this mony a lang."

But in general he only moaned, and after the words thus heard or
fashioned by Malcolm lay silent and nearly still for an hour.

All the waning afternoon Malcolm sat by his side, and neither mother,
maid nor doctor came near them.

"Dark wa's an' no a breath!" he murmured or seemed to murmur again.
"Nae gerse nor flooers nor bees! I hae na room for my hump, an' I
canna lie upo' 't, for that wad kill me. Wull I _ever_ ken whaur I cam
frae? The wine's unco guid. Gie me a drap mair, gien ye please, Lady
Horn.--I thought the grave was a better place. I hae lain safter afore
I dee'd.--Phemy! Phemy! Rin, Phemy, rin! I s' bide wi' them this time.
Ye rin, Phemy!"

As it grew dark the air turned very chill, and snow began to
fall thick and fast. Malcolm laid a few sticks on the smouldering
peat-fire,