The door opened, and the mad laird came in. His eyes were staring wide, but their look and that of his troubled visage showed that he was awake only in some frightful dream. “Father o’ lichts!” he murmured once and again, but making wild gestures, as if warding off blows. Miss Horn took him gently by the hand. The moment he felt her touch, his face grew calm, and he submitted at once to be led back to bed. “Ye may tak yer aith upo’ ’t, Ma’colm,” she said when she returned, “she means naething but ill by that puir cratur; but you and me-- we’ll ding (_defeat_) her yet, gien ’t be _his_ wull. She wants a grip o’ ’m for some ill rizzon or ither--to lock him up in a madhoose, maybe, as the villains said, or ’deed, maybe, to mak awa’ wi’ him a’thegither.” “But what guid wad that du her?” said Malcolm. “It’s ill to say, but she wad hae him oot o’ her sicht, ony gait.” “She can hae but little sicht o’ him as ’tis,” objected Malcolm. “Ay! but she aye kens he’s whaur she doesna ken, puttin’ her to shame, a’ aboot the queentry, wi’ that hump o’ his. Oot o’ fowk’s sicht wad be to her oot a’ thegither.” A brief silence followed. “Noo,” said Malcolm, “we come to the queston what the twa limmers could want wi’ that door.” “Dear kens! It bude to be something wrang--that’s a’ ’at mortal can say; but ye may be sure o’ that--I hae hard tell,” she went on reflectingly--“o’ some room or ither i’ the hoose ’at there’s a fearsome story aboot, an’ ’at’s never opent on no accoont. I hae hard a’ aboot it, but I canna min’ upo’ ’t noo, for I paid little attention till ’t at the time, an’ it’s mony a year sin’ syne. But it wad be some deevilich ploy o’ their ain they wad be efter: it’s little the likes o’ them wad heed sic auld warld tales.” “Wad ye hae me tell the markis?” asked Malcolm. “Na, I wad no; an’ yet ye maun du ’t. Ye hae no business to ken o’ onything wrang in a body’s hoose, an’ no tell them--forbye ’at he pat ye in chairge. But it’ll du naething for the laird; for what cares the markis for onything or onybody but himsel’?” “He cares for ’s dauchter,” said Malcolm. “Ow ay!--as sic fowk ca’ carin’. There’s no a bla’guard i’ the haill queentry he wadna sell her till, sae be he was o’ an auld eneuch faimily, and had rowth o’ siller. Haith! noo a days the last ’ill come first, an’ a fish-cadger wi’ siller ’ill be coontit a better bargain nor a lord wantin ’t: only he maun hae a _heap_ o’ ’t, to cower the stink o’ the fish.” “Dinna scorn the fish, mem,” said Malcolm: “they’re innocent craturs, an’ dinna smell waur nor they can help; an’ that’s mair nor ye can say for ilka lord ye come athort.” “Ay, or cadger aither,” rejoined Miss Horn. “They’re aft eneuch jist sic like, the main differ lyin’ in what they’re defiled wi’; an’ ’deed whiles there’s no differ there, or maist ony gait, maybe, but i’ the set o’ the shoothers, an’ the wag o’ the tongue.” “An’ what’ll we du wi’ the laird?” said Malcolm.