Fresh horses were put to the chariot, and he had to set out once more--this time to fetch a justice of the peace, a neighbor laird. The distance was greater than to Duff Harbor; the roads were worse; the north wind, rising as they went, blew against them as they returned, increasing to a violent gale; and it was late before they reached Lossie House. When Malcolm entered he found the marquis alone. "Is Morrison here at last?" he cried, in a feeble, irritated voice. "Yes, my lord." "What the devil kept you so long? The bay mare would have carried me there and back in an hour and a half." "The roads war verra heavy, my lord. An' jist hear till the win'." The marquis listened a moment, and a frightened expression grew over his thin, pale, anxious face. "You don't know what depends on it," he said, "or you would have driven better. Where is Mr. Soutar?" "I dinna ken, my lord. I'm only jist come, an' I've seen naebody." "Go and tell Mrs. Courthope I want Soutar. You'll find her crying somewhere--the old chicken!--because I swore at her. What harm could that do the old goose?" "It'll be mair for love o' yer lordship than fricht at the sweirin', my lord." "You think so? Why should _she_ care? Go and tell her I'm sorry. But really she ought to be used to me by this time. Tell her to send Soutar directly." Mr. Soutar was not to be found, the fact being that he had gone to see Miss Horn. The marquis flew into an awful rage, and began to curse and swear frightfully. "My lord! my lord!" said Malcolm, "for God's sake, dinna gang on that gait. He canna like to hear that kin' o' speech; an' frae ane o' his ain' tu!" The marquis stopped, aghast at his presumption and choking with rage, but Malcolm's eyes filled with tears, and, instead of breaking out again, his master turned his head away and was silent. Mr. Soutar came. "Fetch Morrison," said the marquis, "and go to bed." The wind howled terribly as Malcolm ascended the stairs and half felt his way, for he had no candle, through the long passages leading to his room. As he entered the last a huge vague form came down upon him like a deeper darkness through the dark. Instinctively he stepped aside. It passed noiselessly, with a long stride, and not even a rustle of its garments--at least Malcolm heard nothing but the roar of the wind. He turned and followed it. On and on it went, down the stair, through a corridor, down the great stone turnpike stair, and through passage after passage. When it came into the more frequented and half-lighted thoroughfares of the house it showed as a large figure in a long cloak, indistinct in outline.