“I canna tell ye jist i’ the noo; but ye ken a body canna weel be aye aboot a place ohn seein’ things. I’ll tell ye something o’ mair consequence hooever,” he continued. “Some fowk say there’s a God, an’ some say there’s nane, an’ I ha’e no richt to preach to ye, Lizzy; but I maun jist tell ye this--’at gien God dinna help them ’at cry till ’im i’ the warst o’ tribles, they micht jist as weel ha’e nae God at a’. For my ain pairt I ha’e been helpit, an’ I think it was him intill ’t. Wi’ his help, a man may warstle throu’ onything. I say I think it was himsel’ tuik me throu’ ’t, an’ here I stan’ afore ye, ready for the neist trible, an’ the help ’at ’ll come wi’ ’t. What it may be, God only kens!” CHAPTER VI. MR CRATHIE. He was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, and the voice of the factor in exultant wrath. “MacPhail!” it cried. “Come out with you. Don’t think to sneak there. _I_ know you. What right have you to be on the premises? Didn’t I send you about your business this morning?” “Ay, sir, but ye didna pay me my wauges,” said Malcolm, who had sprung to the door and now stood holding it half shut, while Mr Crathie pushed it half open. “No matter. You’re nothing better than a housebreaker if you enter any building about the place.” “I brak nae lock,” returned Malcolm. “I ha’e the key my lord gae me to ilka place ’ithin the wa’s excep’ the strong room.” “Give it me directly. _I’m_ master here now.” “’Deed, I s’ du nae sic thing, sir. What he gae me I’ll keep.” “Give up that key, or I’ll go at once and get a warrant against you for theft.” “Weel, we s’ refar ’t to Maister Soutar.” “Damn your impudence--’at I sud say ’t!--what has he to do with my affairs? Come out of that directly.” “Huly, huly, sir!” returned Malcolm, in terror lest he should discover who was with him. “You low-bred rascal! Who have you there with you?” As he spoke Mr Crathie would have forced his way into the dusky chamber, where he could just perceive a motionless undefined form. But stiff as a statue Malcolm kept his stand, and the door was immovable. Mr Crathie gave a second and angrier push, but the youth’s corporeal as well as his mental equilibrium was hard to upset, and his enemy drew back in mounting fury. “Get out of there,” he cried, “or I’ll horsewhip you for a damned blackguard.” “Whup awa’,” said Malcolm, “but in here ye s’ no come the nicht.” The factor rushed at him, his heavy whip upheaved--and the same moment found himself, not in the room, but lying on the flower-bed in front of it. Malcolm instantly stepped out, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and turned to assist him. But he was up already, and busy with words unbefitting the mouth of an elder of the kirk. “Didna I say ’at ye sudna come in, sir? What for wull fowk no tak a tellin’?” expostulated Malcolm. But the factor was far beyond force of logic or illumination of reason. He raved and swore. “Get oot o’ my sicht,” he cried, “or I’ll shot ye like a tyke.”