'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclination.' “Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!” It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face. “The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me.” The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the window were alike insufferable. “By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!” roared David. Above him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it. “Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't,” the little man cried, holding out his arms as if to receive it. “Dinna, David,” pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's arm. “By the Lord! I'll give him something!” yelled the boy. Close by there stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its contents at the leering face in the window. The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David. “I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!” he yelled. “I'll--” Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to him, hampering him. “Dinna, David, dinna!” she implored. “He's yer ain dad.” “I'll dad him! I'll learn him!” roared David half through the window. At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner, closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job. “Is he dead?” shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form. “Ho! ho!” went the other two. They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind. As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round. “By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and yer--” But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away before that last ill word had flitted into being. Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home. All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son. The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman. For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing. When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.