“My lord,” said the laird, lowering his book to his knee, “if I thought four cart-horses would pull you through to Howglen to-night, you should have them; but you would simply stick fast, horses and all, in the snow-wreaths.” The old man uttered an exclamation with an awful solemnity, and said no more, but collapsed, and sat huddled up, staring into the fire. “You must just make the best of your quarters here; they are entirely at your service, my lord,” said the laird. “We shall not starve. There are sheep on the place, pigs and poultry, and plenty of oatmeal, though very little flour. There is milk too--and a little wine, and I think we shall do well enough.” Lord Mergwain made no answer, but in his silence seemed to be making up his mind to the ineludible. “Have you any more of that claret?” he asked. “Not much, I am sorry to say,” answered the laird, “but it is your lordship’s while it lasts.” “If this lasts, I shall drink your cellar dry,” rejoined his lordship with a feeble grin. “I may as well make a clean breast of it. From my childhood I have never known what it was not to be thirsty. I believe thirst to be the one unfailing birth-mark of the family. I was what the methodists call a drunkard before I was born. My father died of drink. So did my grandfather. You must have some pity on me, if I should want more than seems reasonable. The only faculty ever cultivated in our strain was drinking, and I am sorry to say it has not been brought to perfection yet. Perfection is to get drunk and never know it; but I have bad dreams, sir! I have bad dreams! And the worst of it is, if once I have a bad dream, I am sure to have it again; and if it come first in a strange place, it will come every night until I leave that place. I had a very bad one last night, as you know. I grant it came because I drank too much yesterday, but that won’t keep it from coming again to-night.” He started to his feet, the muscles of his face working frightfully. “Send for your horses, Mr. Warlock,” he cried. “Have them put to at once. Four of them, you said. At once--at once! Out of this I must go. If it be to ---- itself, go I must and will.” “My lord,” said the laird, “I cannot send you from my house in this weather. As my guest, I am bound to do my best for you; especially as I understand the country, and you do not. I said you should have my horses if I thought they could take you through, but I do not think it. Besides, the change, in my judgment, is a deceitful one, and this night may be worse than the last. Poor as your accommodation is, it is better than the open road between this and Howglen; though, doubtless, before to-morrow morning you would be snug in the heart of a snow-wreath.”