"Just as you say, sweet love! You know I am your slave. You do with me as you like," he answered stupidly.

"Now," said Faustina, her thoughts still running on the contrast between the storm without and the comfort within, "what in this world would tempt one to leave the house on such a night as this?

"Nothing in the world, sweet love!"

"Malcolm, I do not think I would go out to-night, even in a close carriage, for a thousand pounds."

"No, my angel, nor for ten thousand pounds should you go."

"I like to think of the people that are out in the cold, though. It doubles my enjoyment," she said, as she put another fine grape in his mouth.

"Yes, sweet love!" he answered drowsily, closing his fingers on her hand and drawing her forcibly towards him.

"Ah! stop!" she exclaimed, under her breath, and directing his attention to Mrs. MacDonald, who sat with her eyes closed in the easy-chair by the chimney corner.

"She is asleep," said the viscount, in a hoarse whisper.

"No, no! you are not certain!" whispered Faustina.

"Come, come! sit close to me!" exclaimed the viscount, with fierce vehemence, drawing her towards him.

"You forget yourself! You are drunk, Malcolm!" cried Faustina, resisting his efforts.

At that moment there came a rap at the door; it was a soft, low tap, yet it startled the viscount like a thunderclap. He dropped the hand of Faustina and demanded angrily:

"Who the fiend is there?"

There was no answer, but the rap was gently repeated.

"Speak, then, can't you? Who the demon are you?" he cried.

"Why don't you tell them to come in?" said Faustina, in a displeased tone.

"Come in, then, set fire to you, whoever you are!" exclaimed Lord Vincent.

The door was opened and old Cuthbert softly entered.

"What the fiend do you want, sir?" haughtily demanded the viscount; for he had lately taken a great dislike to old Cuthbert, as well as to every respectable servant in the house, whose humble integrity was a tacit rebuke to his own dishonor; and least of all would he endure the intrusion of one of them upon his interviews with Faustina.

"What brings you here, I say?" he repeated,

"An'it please your lairdship, there are twa poleecemen downstairs, wi' a posse at their tails," answered the old man, bowing humbly.

"What is their business here?"

"I dinna ken, me laird."

"Something about that stupid murder, I suppose."

Faustina started; she was probably thinking of Katie.

"I dinna think it is onything connected wi' Ailsie's death, me laird."

"What then? What mare's nest have they found now, the stupid Dogberries?"

"I canna tak' upon mesel' to say, me laird. But they are asking for yer lairdship and Mistress Dugald."

"Me!"

This exclamation came from Faustina, who turned deadly pale, and stared wildly at the speaker. Indeed her eyes and her face could be compared to nothing else but two great black set in a marble mask.

"Me!"

"Aye, mem, e'en just for yer ain sel', and na ither, forbye it be his lairdship's sel'," replied the old man, bowing with outward humility and secret satisfaction, for Cuthbert cordially disapproved and disliked Faustina.

"Horror! I see how it is! The dead body of the black woman has been cast up by the sea, as I knew it would be, and we shall be guillotined--no!--hanged, hanged by the neck till we are dead!" she cried, wringing and twisting her hands in deadly terror.

"I wish to Heaven you may be, for an incorrigible fool!" muttered the viscount, in irrepressible anger; for, you see, his passion for this woman was not of a nature to preclude the possibility of his falling into a furious passion with her upon occasions like this.

"What madness has seized you now?" he continued. "There is no danger; you have no cause to be alarmed. They have probably come about the murder of Ailsie Dunbar, Satan burn them! Cuthbert, what are you lingering here for? Go, see what it is!"

The old man bowed lowly, and left the room.

"Faustina!" exclaimed the viscount, as soon as Cuthbert had gone, "your folly will be the ruin of us both some day--will lead to discovery! Can you not let the black woman, as you call her, rest?

Why will you be so indiscreet?"

"Oh, it is you who are indiscreet now," exclaimed Faustina, clasping her hands and glancing towards Mrs. MacDonald, whose sleep seemed too deep to be real.

"Try to govern yourself, then!" said the viscount.

"Ah, how can I, when I am quaking like a jelly with my terror?"

"You should not undertake dangerous crimes unless you possess heroic courage," said the viscount.

"Mon Dieu! it is you who will ruin us!" cried Faustina, stamping her small feet and pointing to Mrs. MacDonald.

The viscount laughed.

And at this moment old Cuthbert re-entered the room.

"Well?" asked Lord Vincent.

"If you please, me laird, they say they maun see yer lairdship's sel' and the leddy," said the old man.

"What the blazes do they want with us? Was ever anything so insolently persistent? Go and tell the fellows that I cannot and will not see them to-night! And if they are disappointed it will serve them right for coming out on such a night as this, They must have been mad!"

"Verra weel, me laird. I'll tell them," said the old man, departing.

"Compose yourself, Faustina, this business has no reference to you, I assure you. When they asked for us, they merely wished to see us to put some questions about the case of Ailsie Dunbar," said the viscount, who had not the slightest suspicion that there was, or could be, a warrant out for his arrest. He fancied himself entirely secure in his crimes. He believed the negroes to be safe beyond the sea; sold into slavery in a land of which they did not even understand the language, and from which they never would be allowed to return. He believed Claudia to be crushed under the conspiracy he had formed against her. He believed her father to be far away. And so he considered himself safe from all interruptions of his iniquities. What was there, in fact, to arouse his fears? What had he to dread?