"I have had a horrid night! I have been in worse than purgatory. I have not closed my eyes. I wish I was dead. See what you have brought me to, Malcolm! And--only look at my dress!" sobbed the woman.

"Your dress! That is just exactly what I am looking at. A pretty dress that to be seen in. What the demon do you think people will take you for?" sneered his lordship.

"I do not know! I do not care! poor trampled lily that I am!"

"Poor trampled fool! Why didn't you change that Merry Andrew costume for something plainer and decenter before you left the castle?"

"Why didn't you tell me to do it, then? I never thought of it.

Besides, I didn't know what this beast of a station house was like.

No carpets, no beds, no servants. And I'm dying for want of them all. And now I must have my breakfast. Why don't you order it, Malcolm?" she whimpered.

"I am afraid they do not provide breakfasts any more than they do other luxuries for the guests of this establishment," replied the viscount, with a malignant laugh.

"But I shall starve, then," said the poor little animal, bursting into tears.

"I cannot help it," replied the viscount, very much in the same tone as if he had said: "I do not care."

But here McRae spoke:

"My lord, there is nearly an hour left before we shall go before the magistrate. If you wish, therefore, you can send out to some hotel and order your breakfast brought to you here."

"Thank you; I will avail myself of your suggestion. Whom can I send?" inquired the viscount.

"Christie, you can go for his lordship," said McRae to his subordinate, who had just entered the hall.

Christie came forward to take the order.

"What will you have?" inquired Lord Vincent, curtly addressing his "sweet angel."

"Oh, some strong coffee with cream, hot rolls with fresh butter, and broiled moor hen with currant jelly," replied Faustina.

Lord Vincent wrote his order down with a pencil on a leaf of his tablets, tore it out and gave it to Christie, saying:

"Take this to the 'Highlander' and tell them to send the breakfast immediately. Also inquire for my servant, Cuthbert Allan, who is stopping there, and order him to put my horses to the carriage and bring them around here for my use."

The man bowed civilly and went out to do this errand.

In about half an hour he returned, accompanied by a waiter from the "Highlander," bringing the breakfast piled up on a large tray, unfolded the cloth and spread it upon one of the benches and arranged the breakfast upon it.

"Did you see my servant?" inquired Lord Vincent of his messenger.

"Yes, me laird, and gi'e him your order. The carriage will be round," replied the man.

As the viscount and his companion drew their bench up to the other bench upon which their morning meal was laid, Mr. Frisbie, who had been sitting in a remote corner of the hall with his head buried on his knees, got up and humbly stood before them, as if silently offering his services to wait at table.

"He here!" exclaimed Faustina, in amazement.

"Yes, he is in the same boat with us. Go sit down, Frisbie; we don't need you," said Lord Vincent. And the ex-valet retired and crouched in his corner like a repulsed dog.

Trouble did not take away the appetite of Mrs. Dugald. It does not ever have that effect upon constitutions in which the animal nature largely preponderates. She ate, drank, and wept, and so got through a very hearty repast. Lord Vincent, having swallowed a single cup of coffee, which constituted the whole of his breakfast, sat and watched her performances with unconcealed scorn.

Before Faustina got through Officer McRae began impatiently to consult his large silver turnip.

"It is time to go," he said at length.

But Faustina continued to suck the bones of the moor hen, between her trickling tears.

"We must not keep the magistrate waiting," said McRae.

But Faustina continued to suck and cry.

"I am sorry to hurry you, madam; but we must go," said McRae decisively.

"Ah, bah! what a beastly place! where a poor little lady is not permitted to eat her breakfast in peace!" she exclaimed, throwing down the delicate bone at which she had been nibbling, and fiercely starting up.

As she had not removed her bonnet and cloak during the whole night she was quite ready.

As they were going out Lord Vincent pointed to Frisbie and inquired:

"Is not that fellow to go?"

"No; he is in upon a heavier charge, you know, my lord. Your examination precedes his," said McRae, as he conducted his prisoners into the street, leaving Mr. Frisbie to solace himself with the remnants of Faustina's breakfast, guarded by Christie.

The viscount's carriage was drawn up before the door.

"Is it hame, me laird I" inquired old Cuthbert, touching his hat, from the coachman's box.

"No. You are to take your directions from this person," replied his lordship sullenly, as he hurried into the carriage to conceal himself and his fettered wrists from the passers-by.

McRae put Mrs. Dugald into the carriage, and then jumped up and seated himself on the box beside the coachman, and directed him where to drive.

The snow was still falling fast, and the streets were nearly blocked up.

CHAPTER XLIII.

FRUITS OF CRIME.

Ay, think upon the cause-- Forget it not: when you lie down to rest, Let it be black among your dreams; and when The morn returns, so let it stand between The sun and you, as an ill-omened cloud, Upon a summer's day of festival.

--_Byron_.

After a drive of about twenty minutes through the narrow streets the carriage stopped before the town hall. McRae jumped down from the box and assisted his prisoners to alight.

"Will I wait, me laird?" inquired old Cuthbert, in a desponding tone.