By the time his absence was discovered, Macquean had put some little distance between himself and the carriage. For the first few minutes of his flight he crept like a shadow, crouching against the stone wall which flanked one side of the road, and terrified lest his steps should be heard. He paused now and then and stood still to listen for the sound of pursuit, taking courage as each time the silence remained unbroken. The white face of a bullock standing by a gate made his heart jump as it loomed suddenly upon him. When he felt safe, he took his way with a bolder aspect--not back towards Whanland, but forward towards Morphie House. He burned with desire to announce to someone the sensational events that were happening, and he realized very strongly that it would be well to create an excuse for his own defection. He was panting when he pealed the bell and knocked at the front-door, feeling that the magnitude of his errand demanded an audience of Lady Eliza herself. It was opened by a maidservant with an astonished expression. ‘Whaur’s her ladyship?’ said Macquean. ‘A’m to see her.’ ‘What is’t?’ inquired the girl, closing the door until it stood barely a foot open. ‘A’m seeking her leddyship, a’ tell ye.’ She looked at him critically. ‘Who is there?’ said a cool voice from the staircase. The maid stood back, and Cecilia came across the hall. ‘Where do you come from?’ she asked, as the lamplight struck Macquean’s bald head, making it shine in the darkness. ‘From Whanland,’ replied he. ‘You’ll be Miss Raeburn? Eh! There’s awfu’ work down i’ the field by the doo’cot! The laird’s awa’ there, an’ Jimmy Stirk an’ the ane-leggit Captain-body frae Kaims. They’re to net it an’ tak’ the birds.’ ‘What?’ exclaimed Cecilia, puzzled, and seeing visions of the inspector engaged in a robbery. ‘Do you mean Captain Somerville?’ ‘A’ do, indeed,’ said Macquean, wagging his head, ‘an’ a’m sure a’ hope he may be spared. He’s an auld man to be fechtin’ wi’ poachers, but we’re a’ in the hands o’ Providence.’ A light began to break on Cecilia. ‘Then, are the poachers at the dovecot? Is that what you have come to say?’ Macquean assented. The maidservant, who had been listening open-mouthed, now flew up to Lady Eliza’s bedroom, and found her mistress beginning to prepare herself for the night. She had not put off her dress, but her wig stood on a little wooden stand on the toilet-table. She made a snatch at it as the girl burst in with her story. ‘Cecilia, what is all this nonsense?’ exclaimed Lady Eliza, seeing her adopted niece’s figure appear on the threshold. ‘(Stop your havering, girl, till I speak to Miss Raeburn.) Come here, Cecilia. I can’t hear my own voice for this screeching limmer. (Be quiet, girl!) What is it, Cecilia? Can’t you answer, child?’ The maid had all the temperament of the female domestic servant, and was becoming hysterical. ‘Put her out!’ cried Lady Eliza. ‘Cecilia! put her into the passage.’