At the sound of his approach she turned; and such an expression crossed her face in a momentary flash ere she disappeared in the house, as added considerably to his knowledge of fallen humanity. Before he reached her door she was out again, tying on a clean white apron as she came, and smiling like a dark pool in sunshine. She dropped him a low courtesy, and looked as if she had been occupying her house for months of his absence. But Malcolm would not meet even cunning with its own weapons, and therefore turned away his head, and took no notice of her. She ground her teeth with the fury of hate, and swore that she would yet disappoint him of his purpose, whatever it were, in this masquerade of service. Her heart being scarcely of the calibre to comprehend one like Malcolm’s, her theories for the interpretation of the mystery were somewhat wild, and altogether of a character unfit to see the light. The keeper of the town-gate greeted Malcolm, as he let him in, with a pleased old face and words of welcome; but added instantly, as if it was no time for the indulgence of friendship, that it was a terrible business going on at the Nose. “What is it?” asked Malcolm, in alarm. “Ye ha’e been ower lang awa’, I doobt,” answered the man, “to ken hoo the factor----But, Lord save ye! haud yer tongue,” he interjected, looking fearfully around him. “Gien he kenned ’at I said sic a thing, he wad turn me oot o’ hoose an’ ha’.” “You’ve said nothing yet,” rejoined Malcolm. “I said _factor_, an’ that same’s ’maist eneuch, for he’s like a roarin’ lion an’ a ragin’ bear amang the people, an’ that sin’ ever ye gaed. Bow-o’-meal said i’ the meetin’ the ither nicht ’at he bude to be the verra man, the wickit ruler propheseed o’ sae lang sin’ syne i’ the beuk o’ the Proverbs. Eh! it’s an awfu’ thing to be foreordeent to oonrichteousness!” “But you haven’t told me what is the matter at Scaurnose,” said Malcolm impatiently. “Ow, it’s jist this--at this same ’s midsimmer-day, an’ Blew Peter, honest fallow! he’s been for the last three month un’er nottice frae the factor to quit. An’ sae, ye see,----” “To quit!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Sic a thing was never h’ard tell o’!” “Haith! it’s h’ard tell o’ noo,” returned the gatekeeper. “Quittin’ ’s as plenty as quicken (_couch-grass_). ’Deed there’s maist naething ither h’ard tell o’ _bit_ quittin’; for the full half o’ Scaurnose is un’er like nottice for Michaelmas, an’ the Lord kens what it’ll a’ en’ in!” “But what’s it for? Blue Peter’s no the man to misbehave himsel’.” “Weel, ye ken mair yersel’ nor ony ither as to the warst fau’t there is to lay till ’s chairge; for they say--that is, _some_ say, it’s a’ yer ain wyte, Ma’colm.” “What mean ye, man? Speyk oot,” said Malcolm. “They say it’s a’ anent the abduckin’ o’ the markis’s boat, ’at you an’ him gaed aff wi’ thegither.” “That’ll hardly haud, seeing the marchioness hersel’ cam hame in her the last nicht.”