"Is that you, Morag?" demanded the Pensassenach, as awakened at a later hour than usual by her maid, she started up from that profound sleep, which the extraordinary fatigue and excitement of the previous evening had thrown her into, and began to huddle on such parts of her clothes as lay nearest at hand. "Aye, Memm, it's me," replied Morag, "Fat wull she be doin' for mulks? Shon Smiss has driven awa a' ta wholl kye lang or it was skreichs o' tay." "What said you?" demanded the Pensassenach. "John Smith has driven away all our cows! Traitorous thief and robber that he is, I thought as much!" "Toot na! Shon's nae fiefs nor rubbers neither," replied Morag, in anything but a pleased tone. "He is a thief and a traitor to boot," cried the enraged Pensassenach. "He is no fiefs!" rejoined Morag, with great energy, both of voice and of action. "Not a bonn o' him but is as honest as yoursel'." "I tell you he is a thief, and a traitor; and, for aught I know, an assassin too!" replied the Pensassenach; "and you are an impudent baggage for daring to contradict me." "She canna stand and hear Shon Smiss misca'ed," exclaimed Morag, bursting into tears of mingled grief and rage, excited by the unextinguishable love for John, which had long secretly possessed her; "an' war she no the mistress," continued Morag, with very violent action, "war she no the mistress, Fod, but she wad pu' tat cockernony aff her head for saying as mockell! But och mercy be aboot huss a'!" cried the girl, darting a look out at the window, and then hurrying away as she spoke; "mercy be aboot huss a'! yonder comes Shon himsel', rinnin' like ony rae-buck!" "God be merciful to me, can the traitor mean murder!" cried the Pensassenach, hastily shutting, locking, and bolting the chamber door, and, with great exertion moving a chest of drawers against it, whilst her very heart almost ceased to beat, from the terror that fell upon her. "Far is she, Morag? Is she oot o' her bed? cried John, in a loud and hurried voice, as he came flying up the stair, and began thundering like a madman at the lady's bed-chamber door. "Come, come, let her in direckly!" "No one can come here," said the lady trembling; "I am not half dressed." "Dress be tamm!" cried John, furiously; "Come away fast--open ta toor or she be killed!" "You shall find no entrance here, you murdering blood-thirsty villain, whilst I have power to defend my life," cried the Pensassenach, driven to desperation, and as, with immense labour, she was dragging a heavy trunk of napery across the floor, which she reared on end against the chest of drawers. "Oh, why did MacArthur leave me thus to be murdered?" "Let her in, or she see her sure murdered," cried John, in a voice of thunder, and kicking terribly at the door. "God help me, I'm gone!" muttered the Pensassenach, in an agony of fear. "Oh, why did my husband leave me? The door never can stand such kicks as these. I see it yielding. Murder! murder! murder!"