"Dinna stan' preachin' to me. I'm past that."

"Alec, ye'll wiss to G.o.d ye hadna, whan ye come to marry a bonnie wife."

It was a true but ill-timed argument. Alec flared up wildly.

"Wife!" he cried, "there's no wife for me. Haud oot o' my gait. Dinna ye see I hae been drinkin'? And I winna be contred."

"Drinkin'!" exclaimed Mr Cupples. "Little ye ken aboot drinkin'. I hae drunken three times as muckle as you. And gin that be ony argument for me haudin' oot o' your gait, it's mair argument yet for you to haud oot o' mine. I sweir to G.o.d I winna stan' this ony langer. Ye're to come hame wi' me frae this mou' o' h.e.l.l and ugsome (frightful) deith. It gangs straucht to the everlastin' burnin's. Eh, man! to think nae mair o' women nor _that_!"

And the brave little man placed himself right between Alec and the door, which now opened half-way, showing several peering and laughing faces.

But the opposition of Mr Cupples had increased the action of the alcohol upon Alec's brain, and he blazed up in a fury at the notion of being made a laughter to the women. He took one step towards Mr Cupples, who had restored his hands to his pockets and backed a few paces towards the door of the house, to guard against Alec's pa.s.sing him.

"Haud oot o' my gait, or I'll gar ye," he said fiercely.

"I will not," answered Mr Cupples, and lay senseless on the stones of the court.

Alec strode into the house, and the door closed behind him.

By slow degrees Mr Cupples came to himself. He was half dead with cold, and his head was aching frightfully. A pool of blood lay on the stones already frozen. He crawled on his hands and knees, till he reached a wall, by which he raised and steadied himself. Feeling along this wall, he got into the street; but he was so confused and benumbed that if a watchman had not come up, he would have died on some doorstep. The man knew him and got him home. He allowed both him and his landlady to suppose that his condition was the consequence of drink; and so was helped up to his garret and put to bed.

CHAPTER LXXV.

All the night during which Isie Constable lay dreaming of racks, pincers, screws, and Alec Forbes, the snow was busy falling outside, shrouding the world once more; so that next day the child could not get out upon any pretence. Had she succeeded in escaping from the house, she might have been lost in the snow, or drowned in the Glamour, over which there was as yet only a rude temporary bridge to supply the place of that which had been swept away. But although very uneasy at the obstruction of her projects, she took good care to keep her own counsel.?-The snow was very obstinate to go. At length, after many days, she was allowed to go out with stockings over her shoes, and play in the garden. No sooner was she alone, than she darted out of the garden by the back-gate, and before her mother missed her, was crossing the Glamour. She had never been so far alone, and felt frightened; but she pushed bravely forward.

Mrs Forbes and Annie Anderson were sitting together when Mary put her head in at the door and told her mistress that the daughter of Mr Constable, the clothier, wanted to see her.

"Why, she's a mere infant, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs Forbes.

"'Deed is she, mem; but she's nane the less doon the stair i' the kitchie. Ye wad hae seen her come yersel' but she's ower wee. Ye cudna get a glimp o' her ower the edge o' the snaw i' the cuttin' doon to the yett. Hoo her fowk cud lat her oot! She's a puir wee white-faced elf o'

a crater, but she's byous auld-farrand and wise-like, and naething will do but she maun see yersel', mem."

"Bring her up, Mary. Poor little thing! What can she want?"

Presently Isie entered the room, looking timidly about her.

"Well, my dear, what do you want?"

"It's aboot Alec, mem," said Isie, glancing towards Annie.

"Well, what about him?" asked Mrs Forbes, considerably bewildered, but not fearing bad news from the mouth of such a messenger.

"Hae ye heard naething aboot him, mem?"

"Nothing particular. I haven't heard from him for a fortnight."

"That's easy acc.o.o.nt.i.t for, mem."

"What do you mean, my dear? Speak out."

"Weel, mem, the way I heard it was raither particlar, and I wadna like a'body to ken."

Here she glanced again at Annie.

"You needn't be afraid of Annie Anderson," said Mrs Forbes smiling.

"What is it?"

"Weel, mem, I didna richtly ken. But they hae ta'en him intil a dreidfu' place, and whether they hae left a haill inch o' skin upon's body, is mair nor I can tell; but they hae rackit him, and pu'd o' 's nails aff, maybe them a', and?-"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mrs Forbes, with a most unusual inclination to hysterics, seeing something terrible peep from behind the grotesque report of Isie, "what _do_ you mean, child?"

"I'm tellin' ye't as I heard it, mem. I houp they haena brunt him yet.

Ye maun gang and tak' him oot o' their han's."

"Whose hands, child? Who's doing all this to him?"

"They stan' aboot the corners o' the streets, mem, in muckle toons, and they catch a haud o' young laads, and they trail them awa' wi' them, and they jist torment the life oot o' them. They say they're women; but I dinna believe that. It's no possible. They maun be men dressed up in women's claes."

Was it a great relief to the mother's heart to find that the childish understanding of Isie had misinterpreted and misrepresented? She rose and left the room, and her troubled step went to and fro overhead. And the spirit of Annie was troubled likewise. How much she understood, I cannot determine; but I believe that a sense of vague horror and pity overwhelmed her heart. Yet the strength of her kindness forced her to pay some attention to the innocent little messenger of evil.

"Whaur heard ye a' that, Isie, dear?"

"I heard my father and my mither gaein' on lamentin' ower him efter I was i' my bed, and they thocht I was asleep. But gin Mistress Forbes winna tak' him awa', I'll gang and tell a' the ministers in Glamerton, and see whether they winna raise the toon."

Annie stared in amazement at the wee blue-eyed wizened creature before her speaking with the decision of a minor prophet.

"Is the child here still?" said Mrs Forbes with some asperity as she re-entered the room. "I must go by the mail this afternoon, Annie."

"That's richt, mem," said Isie. "The suner the better, I'm sure. He mayna be deid yet."

"What a very odd child!" said Mrs Forbes.

"Wouldn't it be better to write first, ma'am?" suggested Annie.

Before Mrs Forbes could reply, the white mutch of Mrs Constable appeared over the top of the snow that walled the path. She was in hot pursuit of her child, whose footsteps she had traced. When shown into the dining-room, she rushed up to her, and caught her to her bosom, crying,

"Ye ill-contrived smatchit! What hae ye been aboot, rinnin' awa' this gait? I wonner ye wasna droont i' the Glamour."

"I don't see what better you could expect of your own child, Mrs Constable, if you go spreading reports against other people's children," said Mrs Forbes bitterly.

"It's a lee whaever said sae," retorted Mrs Constable fiercely. "Wha tell't ye that?"

"Where else could your child have heard such reports, then?"