Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed big and black in the white face peering from the shawl. Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get in. Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair. “I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid.” M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly. “Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last” He turned to the great dog. “Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?” he called. “Come here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no the time to settle wi' him”--nodding toward the door. “We can wait for that, Wullie; we can wait.” Then, turning to Maggie, “Gin ye want him to mak' a show at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is 't ye want o'me?” The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last occurrence, remained dumb. M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically. “I see hoo 'tis,” said he; “yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he. He sent the son to rob the father.” Then, leaning forward in his chair and glaring at the girl, “Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad set on me he cam'”--with hissing emphasis--“straight from Kenmuir!” He paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him. “Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo d'ye onderstan'?” She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her mission; she only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a wave of emotion surged up in her breast. She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands. “Eh, Mr. M'Adam,” she pleaded, “I come to ask ye after David.” The shawl had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she stood before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her eyes big with unshed tears--a touching suppliant. “Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo', but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news o' him.” The little man looked at her curiously. “Ah, noo I mind me,”--this to himself. “You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?” “We're promised,” the girl answered simply. “Weel,” the other remarked, “as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un.” Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable sadness was blended, “Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear.”