but they were damp and did not catch. All at once the laird
gave a shriek, and crying out, "Mither! mither!" fell into a fit so
violent that the heavy bed shook with his convulsions. Malcolm held
his wrists and called aloud. No one came, and, bethinking himself that
none could help, he waited in silence for what would soon follow.

The fit passed quickly, and he lay quiet. The sticks had meantime
dried, and suddenly they caught fire and blazed up. The laird turned
his face toward the flame; a smile came over it; his eyes opened wide,
and with such an expression of seeing gazed beyond Malcolm that he
turned his in the same direction.

"Eh, the bonny man! The bonny man!" murmured the laird.

But Malcolm saw nothing, and turned again to the laird: his jaw had
fallen, and the light was fading out of his face like the last of a
sunset. He was dead.

Malcolm rang the bell, told the woman who answered it what had taken
place, and hurried from the house, glad at heart that his friend was
at rest.

He had ridden but a short distance when he was overtaken by a boy on a
fast pony, who pulled up as he neared him.

"Whaur are ye for?" asked Malcolm. "I'm gaein' for Mistress Cat'nach,"
answered the boy.

"Gang yer w'ys than, an' dinna haud the deid waitin'," said Malcolm
with a shudder.

The boy cast a look of dismay behind him and galloped off.

The snow still fell and the night was dark. Malcolm spent nearly two
hours on the way, and met the boy returning, who told him that Mrs.
Catanach was not to be found.

His road lay down the glen, past Duncan's cottage, at whose door he
dismounted, but he did not find him. Taking the bridle on his arm, he
walked by his horse the rest of the way. It was about nine o'clock,
and the night very dark. As he neared the house, he heard Duncan's
voice. "Malcolm, my son! Will it pe your ownself?" it said.

"It wull that, daddy," answered Malcolm.

The piper was sitting on a fallen tree, with the snow settling softly
upon him.

"But it's ower cauld for ye to be sittin' there i' the snaw, an' the
mirk tu," added Malcolm.

"Ta tarkness will not be ketting to ta inside of her," returned the
seer. "Ah, my poy! where ta light kets in, ta tarkness will pe ketting
in too. This now, your whole pody will pe full of tarkness, as ta
Piple will say, and Tuncan's pody tat will pe full of ta light." Then
with suddenly changed tone he said, "Listen, Malcolm, my son! Shell pe
ferry uneasy till you'