The storm hissed and smote all around them. She took Robert's arm. Followed by Ericson, they left the coach and the struggling horses, and withdrew to a bank that overhung the road. As soon as they were out of the wind, Robert, who had made up his mind, said, 'We canna be mony yairds frae the auld hoose o' Bogbonnie. We micht win throu the nicht there weel eneuch. I'll speir at the gaird, the minute the horses are clear. We war 'maist ower the brig, I heard the coachman say.' 'I know quite well where the old house is,' said Ericson. 'I went in the last time I walked this way.' 'Was the door open?' asked Robert. 'I don't know,' answered Ericson. 'I found one of the windows open in the basement.' 'We'll get the len' o' ane o' the lanterns, an' gang direckly. It canna be mair nor the breedth o' a rig or twa frae the burn.' 'I can take you by the road,' said Ericson. 'It will be very cold,' said Miss St. John,--already shivering, partly from disquietude. 'There's timmer eneuch there to haud 's warm for a twalmonth,' said Robert. He went back to the coach. By this time the horses were nearly extricated. Two of them stood steaming in the lamplight, with their sides going at twenty bellows' speed. The guard would not let him have one of the coach lamps, but gave him a small lantern of his own. When he returned with it, he found Ericson and Miss St. John talking together. Ericson led the way, and the others followed. 'Whaur are ye gaein', gentlemen?' asked the guard, as they passed the coach. 'To the auld hoose,' answered Robert. 'Ye canna do better. I maun bide wi' the coch till the lave gang back to Drumheid wi' the horses, on' fess anither pole. Faith, it'll be weel into the mornin' or we win oot o' this. Tak care hoo ye gang. There's holes i' the auld hoose, I doobt.' 'We'll tak gude care, ye may be sure, Hector,' said Robert, as they left the bridge.