“Hearken, Lizzy!” he said. “I canna e’en think, wi’ this brute ready ilka meenute to ate me up. I maun tak her hame. Efter that, gien ye wad like to tell me onything, I s’ be at yer service. Bide aboot here--or, luik ye: here’s the key o’ yon door; come throu’ that intill the park--throu’ aneth the toll ro’d, ye ken. There ye’ll get into the lythe (_lee_) wi’ the bairnie; an’ I’ll be wi’ ye in a quarter o’ an hoor. It’ll tak me but twa meenutes to gang hame. Stoat ’ill put up the mere, and I’ll be back--I can du ’t in ten meenutes.” “Eh! dinna hurry for me, Ma’colm: I’m no worth it,” said Lizzy. But Malcolm was already at full speed along the top of the dune. “Lord preserve ’s!” cried Lizzy, when she saw him clear the brass swivel. “Sic a laad as that is! Eh, he maun ha’e a richt lass to lo’e him some day! It’s a’ ane to him, boat or beast. He wadna turn frae the deil himsel’. An syne he’s jist as saft ’s a deuk’s neck whan he speyks till a wuman or a bairn--ay, or an auld man aither!” And full of trouble as it was about another, Lizzy’s heart yet ached at the thought that she should be so unworthy of one like him. CHAPTER V. LIZZY FINDLAY. From the sands she saw him gain the turnpike road with a bound and a scramble. Crossing it he entered the park by the sea-gate; she had to enter it by the tunnel that passed under the same road. She approached the grated door, unlocked it, and looked in with a shudder. It was dark, the other end of it being obscured by trees, and the roots of the hill on whose top stood the temple of the winds. Through the tunnel blew what seemed quite another wind --one of death, from regions beneath. She drew her shawl, one end of which was rolled about her baby, closer around them both ere she entered. Never before had she set foot within the place, and a strange horror of it filled her: she did not know that by that passage, on a certain lovely summer night, Lord Meikleham had issued to meet her on the sands under the moon. The sea was not terrible to her; she knew all its ways nearly as well as Malcolm knew the moods of Kelpie; but the earth and its ways were less known to her, and to turn her face towards it and enter by a little door into its bosom was like a visit to her grave. But she gathered her strength, entered with a shudder, passed in growing hope and final safety through it, and at the other end came out again into the light, only the cold of its death seemed to cling to her still. But the day had grown colder; the clouds that, seen or unseen, ever haunt the winter sun, had at length caught and shrouded him, and through the gathering vapours he looked ghastly. The wind blew from the sea. The tide was going down. There was snow in the air. The thin leafless trees were all bending away from the shore, and the wind went sighing, hissing, and almost wailing through their bare boughs and budless twigs. There would be a storm, she thought, ere the morning, but none of their people were out.