and with it her natural brass, for as she spoke she held out her open
palm.

"Na, na," said Malcolm, "nae forhan' payments. Three months o'
tongue-haudin', an' there's yer five poun'; an' Maister Soutar o' Duff
Harbor 'ill pay 't intill yer ain han'. But brack troth wi' me, an' ye
s' hear o' 't; for gien ye war hangt the warl' wad be a' the cleaner.
Noo quit the hoose, an' never lat me see ye aboot the place again.
But afore ye gang I gie ye fair warnin' 'at I mean to win at a' yer
byganes."

The blood of red wrath was seething in Mrs. Catanach's face: she drew
herself up and stood flaming before him, on the verge of explosion.

"Gang frae the hoose," said Malcolm, "or I'll set the muckle hun' to
shaw ye the gait."

Her face turned the color of ashes, and with hanging cheeks and
scared but not the less wicked eyes she hurried from the room. Malcolm
watched her out of the house, then, following her into the town,
brought Miss Horn back with him to aid in the last earthly services,
and hastened to Duncan's cottage.

But, to his amazement and distress, it was forsaken and the hearth
cold. In his attendance on his father he had not seen the piper--he
could not remember for how many days; and on inquiry he found that,
although he had not been missed, no one could recall having seen him
later than three or four days agone. The last he could hear of him was
that about a week before a boy had spied him sitting on a rock in the
Baillies' Barn with his pipes in his lap. Searching the cottage, he
found that his broadsword and dirk, with all his poor finery, were
gone.

That same night Mrs. Catanach also disappeared.

A week after, what was left of Lord Lossie was buried. Malcolm
followed the hearse with the household. Miss Horn walked immediately
behind him, on the arm of the schoolmaster. It was a great funeral,
with a short road, for the body was laid in the church--close to the
wall, just under the crusader with the Norman canopy.

Lady Florimel wept incessantly for three days; on the fourth she
looked out on the sea and thought it very dreary; on the fifth
she found a certain gratification in hearing herself called the
marchioness; on the sixth she tried on her mourning and was pleased;
on the seventh she went with the funeral and wept again; on the eighth
came Lady Bellair, who on the ninth carried her away.

To Malcolm she had not spoken once.

Mr. Graham left Portlossie.

Miss Horn took to her bed for a wee