"It's insufferable!" she exclaimed, fiercely stamping her feet; "can you not make this beast of a carriage closer, then? My flesh is stone and my blood is ice, I tell you."

One window had been left open a little way, to let a breath of air into the carriage, which, crowded with four persons, was otherwise stifling. But the viscount now raised both his fettered hands and closed up the window. The arrangement did not prove satisfactory. It deprived the sufferers of air without making them any warmer.

Faustina shook and moaned and chattered all the same.

"Oh, wretches!" she exclaimed, in furious disgust; "open the window again! I am suffocated! I am poisoned! They have all been eating garlic and drinking whisky!"

The window was opened at her desire, but as they were then crossing the narrow isthmus of rock that connected the castle steep with the land, the wind, from that exposed position, was cutting sharp, and drove into the aperture the stinging snow, which entered the skin like needle points.

"Ah, shut it! shut it! It kills me! It is infamous to treat a poor little lady so!" she cried, bursting into tears.

Again the window was closed; but not for any length of time.

Apparently she could neither bear it open nor shut. So, shaking, moaning, and complaining, the poor creature was taken through that long and bitter night journey which ended at last only at the station house of Banff.

Half dead with cold, she was lifted out of the carriage by the two policemen who stood upon the sidewalk, where she remained, shaking, chattering, and weeping tears that froze upon her cheeks as they fell.

She could see nothing in that dark street but the gloomy building before her, dimly lighted by its iron lamp above the doorway.

There she remained till the viscount was handed out.

"Cuthbert," said his lordship to the old man, who had exposed himself to the severe weather of this night and driven the carriage for the sake of being near his master as long as possible, "Cuthbert, take the carriage around to the 'Highlander' and put up there for the night. We shall want it to take us back to the castle to-morrow, after this ridiculous farce is over."

"Verra weel, me laird," replied old Cuthbert, touching his hat with all the more deference because his master was suffering degradation.

"Ah! is it so? Will we really get back to the castle to-morrow?"

whimpered Faustina, shaking, chattering, and wringing her hands.

"Of course we will," replied his lordship.

"Ah, but how shall I get through the night? I must have a good fire and a comfortable bed, and something warm to drink. Will you see to it, Malcolm?" she whiningly inquired.

"Don't be a fool!" was the gentlemanly reply; for the viscount burned with half-suppressed rage against the woman. whose fatal beauty had led him into all this disgrace.

She burst into a passion of tears.

"That is the reward I get for all my love!" she exclaimed.

"Faustina, for your own sake, if not for any other's, exercise some discretion!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.

"Villain!" she screamed, in fury, "I had no discretion when I listened to you!"

"I wish to Heaven you had had then! I should not have been in this mess," he replied.

"Ah!" she hissed. "If my hands were not fettered I would tear your eyes!"

"Sweet angel!" sneered the viscount, in mockery and self-mockery.

"Thsche!" she hissed, "let me at him!"

The viscount laughed, a hard, bitter, scornful laugh.

And at it they went, criminating and recriminating, until the empty carriage was driven away, and the policemen took them by the shoulders and pushed them into the station house.

They found themselves in a large stone hall, with iron-grated windows. It was partially warmed with a large, rusty stove, around which many men of the roughest cast were gathered, smoking, talking, and laughing. The walls were furnished with rude benches, upon which some men sat, some reclined, and some lay at full length. The stone floor was wet with the slop of the snow that had been brought in by so many feet and had melted. In one of these slops lay a woman, dead drunk.

"Ah! Good God! I cannot stay here!" cried Faustina, gathering up her skirts, as well as she could with her fettered hands, and looking around in strong disgust.

The viscount laughed in derision; he was angry, desperate, and he rejoiced in her discomfiture.

"Eh, Saunders! take these two women in the women's room," said McRae, beckoning a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed Scot to his assistance.

"Hech! it will take twa o' the strongest men here to lift yon lassie," replied the man, lumbering slowly along towards the prostrate woman, and trying to raise her. If he failed in lifting her, he succeeded in waking her, and he was saluted for his pains with a volley of curses, to which he replied with a shake or two.

"Oh, horror! I will not stay here!" cried Faustina, stamping with rage.

"Attend to her, Christie. Dunlap, help Saunders to remove that woman," said McRae.

Two of the policemen succeeded in raising the fallen woman, and leading her between them into an adjoining room. The man addressed as "Christie" would have taken Faustina by the arm, and led her after them, but that she fiercely shook herself from his grasp.

"Follow then and ye like, lass; but gae some gait ye maun, ye ken,"

said the man good-naturedly.

She glanced around the dreary room, upon the grated windows, the sloppy floor, the rusty stove, and the wretched men, and finally seemed to think that she could not do better than to leave such a repulsive scene.

"Go along, then, and I will follow, only keep your vile hands off me," said Faustina, gathering up her dainty raiment and stepping carefully after her leader. As she did so she turned a last look upon Lord Vincent. The viscount had thrown himself upon a corner of one of the benches, where he sat, with his fettered hands folded together, and his head bent down upon his breast, as if he were in deep despair.

"Imbecile!" was the complimentary good-night thrown by his angel, as she passed out of the hall into the adjoining room. This--the women's room--was in all respects similar to the men's hall, being furnished with the like grated windows, rusty iron stove, and rude benches. Along, on these benches, or on the floor, were scattered wretched women in every attitude of self-abandonment; some in the stupor of intoxication; some in the depths of sorrow; some in stony despair; some in reckless defiance.

The men who had come in with the drunken woman deposited her on one of the benches, from which she quickly rolled to the floor, where she lay dead to all that was passing around her. Her misfortune was greeted with a shout of laughter from the reckless denizens of this room; but that shout was turned into a deafening yell when their eyes fell upon Faustina's array.

"Eh, sirs! wha the deil hae we here fra the ball?" they cried, gathering around her with curiosity.

"Off, you wretches!" screamed Faustina, stamping at them.

"Hech! but she hae a temper o' her ain, the quean," said one.

"Ou, aye, just! It will be for sticking her lad under the ribs she is here," surmised another.

"Eh, sirs, how are the mighty fa'en!" exclaimed a third, as they closed around her, and began to closely examine her rich dress.

"Rabble! how dare you?" screamed Faustina, fiercely twitching herself away from them.

"Eh! the braw furs and silks! the town doesna often see the loike o'

them," said the first speaker, lifting up the corner of the rich sable cloak.

"Wretch, let alone!" shrieked Faustina, stamping frantically.

The uproar brought Policeman Christie to the scene.