MALCOLM by George MacDonald CONTENTS. I. MISS HORN II. BARBARA CATANACH III. THE MAD LAIRD IV. PHEMY MAIR V. LADY FLORIMEL VI. DUNCAN MACPHAIL VII. ALEXANDER GRAHAM VIII. THE SWIVEL IX. THE SALMON-TROUT X. THE FUNERAL XI. THE OLD CHURCH XII. THE CHURCHYARD XIII. THE MARQUIS OF LOSSIE XIV. MEG PARTAN’S LAMP XV. SLOPE OF THE DUNE XVI. THE STORM XVII. THE ACCUSATION XVIII. THE QUARREL XIX. DUNCAN’S PIPES XX. ADVANCES XXI. MEDIATION XXII. WHENCE AND WHITHER? XXIII. ARMAGEDDON XXIV. THE FEAST XXV. THE NIGHT WATCH XXVI. NOT AT CHURCH XXVII. LORD GERNON XXVIII. A FISHER-WEDDING XXIX. FLORIMEL AND DUNCAN XXX. THE REVIVAL XXXI. WANDERING STARS XXXII. THE SKIPPER’S CHAMBER XXXIII. THE LIBRARY XXXIV. MILTON AND THE BAY MARE XXXV. KIRKBYRES XXXVI. THE BLOW XXXVII. THE CUTTER XXXVIII. THE TWO DOGS XXXIX. COLONSAY CASTLE XL. THE DEIL’S WINNOCK XLI. THE CLOUDED SAPPHIRES XLII. DUNCAN’S DISCLOSURE XLIII. THE WIZARD’S CHAMBER XLIV. THE HERMIT XLV. MR CAIRNS AND THE MARQUIS XLVI. THE BALLIES’ BARN XLVII. MRS STEWART’S CLAIM XLVIII. THE BALLIES’ BARN AGAIN XLIX. MOUNT PISGAH L. LIZZY FINDLAY LI. THE LAIRD’S BURROW LII. CREAM OR SCUM LIII. THE SCHOOLMASTER’S COTTAGE LIV. ONE DAY LV. THE SAME NIGHT LVI. SOMETHING FORGOTTEN LVII. THE LAIRD’S QUEST LVIII. MALCOLM AND MRS STEWART LIX. AN HONEST PLOT LX. THE SACRAMENT LXI. MISS HORN AND THE PIPER LXII. THE CUTTLE-FISH AND THE CRAB LXIII. MISS HORN AND LORD LOSSIE LXIV. THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER LXV. THE LAIRD’S VISION LXVI. THE CRY FROM THE CHAMBER LXVII. FEET OF WOOL LXVIII. HANDS OF IRON LXIX. THE MARQUIS AND THE SCHOOLMASTER LXX. END OR BEGINNING MALCOLM. CHAPTER I. MISS HORN. “Na, na; I hae nae feelin’s, I’m thankfu’ to say. I never kent ony guid come o’ _them_. They’re a terrible sicht i’ the gait.” “Naebody ever thoucht o’ layin’ ’t to yer chairge, mem.” “’Deed, I aye had eneuch adu to du the thing I had to du, no to say the thing ’at naebody wad du but mysel’. I hae had nae leisur’ for feelin’s an’ that,” insisted Miss Horn. But here a heavy step descending the stair just outside the room attracted her attention, and checking the flow of her speech perforce, with three ungainly strides she reached the landing. “Watty Witherspail! Watty!” she called after the footsteps down the stair. “Yes, mem,” answered a gruff voice from below. “Watty, whan ye fess the bit boxie, jist pit a hemmer an’ a puckle nails i’ your pooch to men’ the hen-hoose-door. The tane maun be atten’t till as weel ’s the tither.”