He turned toward the door. Mrs. Courthope entered, and a head or two peeped in after her. Duncan stood as before, drawn up and stately, his visage working, but his body motionless as the statue of a sentinel. "Where is the Catanach woman gone?" cried the marquis. "Cone!" shouted the piper. "Cone! and her huspant will be waiting to pe killing her! Och nan ochan!" "Her husband!" echoed the marquis. "Ach! she'll not can pe helping it, my lort--no more till one will pe tead; and tat should pe ta woman, for she'll pe a paad woman--ta worstest woman efer was married, my lort." "That's saying a good deal," returned the marquis. "Not one wort more as enough, my lort," said Duncan. "She was only pe her next wife, put, ochone! ochone! why did she'll pe marry her? You would haf stapt her long aco, my lort, if she'll was your wife and you was knowing ta tamned fox and padger she was pe. Ochone! and she tidn't pe have her turk at her hench nor her sgian in her hose." He shook his hands like a despairing child, then stamped and wept in the agony of frustrated rage. Mrs. Courthope took Phemy in her arms and carried her to her own room, where she opened the window and let the snowy wind blow full upon her. As soon as she came quite to herself, Malcolm set out to bear the good tidings to her father and mother. Only a few nights before had Phemy been taken to the room where they found her. She had been carried from place to place, and had been some time, she believed, in Mrs. Catanach's own house. They had always kept her in the dark, and removed her at night blindfolded. When asked if she had never cried out before, she said she had been too frightened; and when questioned as to what had made her do so then, she knew nothing of it: she remembered only that a horrible creature appeared by the bedside, after which all was blank. On the floor they found a hideous death-mask, doubtless the cause of the screams which Mrs. Catanach had sought to stifle with the pillows and bed-clothes. When Malcolm returned he went at once to the piper's cottage, where he found him in bed, utterly exhausted and as utterly restless. "Weel, daddy," he said, "I doobt I daurna come near ye noo." "Come to her arms, my poor poy," faltered Duncan. "She'll pe sorry in her sore heart for her poy. Nefer you pe minding, my son: you couldn't help ta Cam'ell mother, and you'll pe her own poy however. Ochone! it will pe a plot upon you aal your tays, my son, and she'll not can help you, and it'll pe preaking her old heart." "Gien God thoucht the Cam'ells worth makin', daddy, I dinna see 'at I hae ony richt to compleen 'at I cam' o' them." "She hopes you'll pe forgifing ta plind old man, however. She couldn't see, or she would haf known at once petter." "I dinna ken what ye're efter noo, daddy," said Malcolm. "That she'll do you a creat wrong, and she'll be ferry sorry for it, my son." "What wrang did ye ever du me, daddy?"