David Drummond, without staying to take his horse, or to look what he had done, ran off as hard as his legs would carry him in the direction of the Great House, pursued by a number of the people. He reached it before them, however, rushed through the iron gates, which were open, into the court, where several horses and men were standing, and then flinging-to the gates in the face of the pursuers, turned the key in the lock. This done, he attempted to rush into the house, but was suddenly met by the Earl of Gowrie himself, who was seen to seize him by the collar, and point with his hand to what was probably a mark of blood upon his arm. The next instant, the people who were gazing through the gates saw the murderer handed over to two of the other servants, who at once proceeded to strap his arms together with one of the stirrup leathers, while Gowrie, advancing to the gate, said to the people near, "I wish, my good friends, some of you would call one of the bailies to me, and ask him to bring the guard. I have a prisoner here who must be handed over to his custody." "Long live the Earl of Gowrie!--Long live the great earl!--Long live our noble provost! He will do justice," cried a dozen voices, while two or three men ran off to bring the bailie. "Ah, my lord, this is a sad business," cried Henderson, coming up. "I'm glad to see your lordship returned safely to your own place; but it's awful to think that one of our people should shed blood in the streets before he's been ten minutes in St. Johnstone. It's that wild beast Drummond has done it, and it seems he has fled hither." "There he stands in custody for the deed, Henderson," replied the earl; "and I give notice to all men that I will visit any offences committed by my own people even more severely upon them than I would upon others; and justly too, for most of them have been well nurtured, and all are well paid and well fed. They have my example before them, which I trust will never lead them to do wrong, and have always had my commands to abstain from doing injury to any man. If they fail then, their crime is the greater; and I will by no means pass it over. Who is the man he has wounded?" "Wounded, my lord!" cried Henderson; "he's as dead as a door nail. David Drummond there stabbed him to the heart, and he was dead in two minutes, before one could lift his head up. His name was Walter Matthison; a good, quiet, harmless man as ever lived. Ay, here comes Bailie Roy." "Some one open the gates," said the earl; and advancing through the crowd, he met Bailie Roy, a little, fat, pursy man whom he did not know, with every sign of respect for his office.