“So shall you, before long,” returned Malcolm. “Was it my fault that I made the mistake of looking for civility from you? One word to the dog, and he has you by the throat.” “I’ll go and fetch Wallis,” said the man, and closing the door, left the hall. Now this Wallis had been a fellow-servant of Malcolm’s at Lossie House, but he did not know that he had gone with Lady Bellair when she took Florimel away: almost everyone had left at the same time. He was now glad indeed to learn that there was one amongst the servants who knew him. Wallis presently made his appearance, with a dish in his hands, on his way to the dining-room, from which came the confused noises of the feast. “You’ll be come up to wait on Lady Lossie,” he said. “I haven’t a moment to speak to you now, for we’re at dinner, and there’s a party.” “Never mind me. Give me that dish; I’ll take it in: you can go for another,” said Malcolm, laying his pipes in a safe spot. “You can’t go into the dining-room that figure,” said Wallis, who was in the Bellair livery. “This is how I waited on my lord,” returned Malcolm, “and this is how I’ll wait on my lady.” Wallis hesitated. But there was that about the fisher-fellow was too much for him. As he spoke, Malcolm took the dish from his hands, and with it walked into the dining-room. There one reconnoitring glance was sufficient. The butler was at the sideboard opening a champagne bottle. He had cut wire and strings, and had his hand on the cork as Malcolm walked up to him. It was a critical moment, yet he stopped in the very article, and stared at the apparition. “I’m Lady Lossie’s man from Lossie House. I’ll help you to wait,” said Malcolm. To the eyes of the butler he looked a savage. But there he was in the room with the dish in his hands, and speaking at least intelligibly; the cork of the champagne bottle was pushing hard against his palm, and he had no time to question. He peeped into Malcolm’s dish. “Take it round, then,” he said. So Malcolm settled into the business of the hour. It was some time, after he knew where she was, before he ventured to look at his sister: he would have her already familiarised with his presence before their eyes met. That crisis did not arrive during dinner. Lord Liftore was one of the company, and so, to Malcolm’s pleasure, for he felt in him an ally against the earl, was Florimel’s mysterious friend. CHAPTER XII. A NEW LIVERY. Scarcely had the ladies gone to the drawing-room, when Florimel’s maid, who knew Malcolm, came in quest of him. Lady Lossie desired to see him. “What is the meaning of this, MacPhail?” she said, when he entered the room where she sat alone. “I did not send for you. Indeed, I thought you had been dismissed with the rest of the servants.”