“Marie is the French lady’s eldest daughter--madame would have married her upon you, Huntley, my man, if she had been free,” said the Mistress, “and I woudna say but she’s keeping the little one in her hand for you to make up for your loss, as she says. But Marie, she settled for hersel’ lang before our Cosmo took news of their land to them; and it just shows what kind of folk they were when she took up with the like of this lad. I’ve little skill in Frenchmen, that’s true; if he’s not a common person, and a blackguard to the boot, I’m very sair deceived in my e’en; but whatever else he is, he’s her man, and that I’m just as sure of as mortal person can be. But she’s a poor suffering thing that will never be well in this world, and I’ll no’ send a wandering vagabond to startle her out of her life.” “What do you say, madame,” screamed a voice at the door; “you know my wife--you know her--Madame Pierrot?--and you will keep her husband from her? What! you would take my Marie?--you would marry her to your son because she is rich? but I heard you--oh, I heard you! I go to fly to my dear wife.” The Mistress rose, holding back Huntley, who was advancing indignantly:-- “Fly away, Mounseer,” said Mrs. Livingstone, “you’ll find little but closed doors this night; and dinna stand there swearing and screaming at me; you may gang just when you please, and welcome; but we’ll have none of your passions here; be quiet, Huntley--he’s no’ a person to touch with clean fingers--are you hearing me man? Gang up to your bed, if you please this moment. I give you a night’s shelter because you came with my son; or if you’ll no’ go up the stairs go forth out of my doors, and dinna say another word to me--do you hear?” Pierrot stood at the door, muttering French curses as fast as he could utter them; but he did hear notwithstanding. After a little parley with Huntley, he went up stairs, three steps at a time, and locked himself into his chamber. “He’s just as wise,” said the Mistress, “but it’s no’ very safe sleeping with such a villain in the house;” which was so far true that, excited and restless, she herself did not sleep, but lay broad awake all night thinking of Huntley and Cosmo--- thinking of all the old grief and all the new vexations which Mary of Melmar had brought to her own life. CHAPTER LXVI.