"No, unfortunately they pin their faith, for the most part, to gaily
coloured shawls. All the more reason why I should bless the accident
which led Mlle. Dorian to my door."

Mrs. M'Gregor, betraying, in her interest, real suspicion, murmured
_sotto voce_: "Then she _is_ a patient?"

"What's that?" asked Stuart, regarding her surprisedly. "A patient?
Certainly. She suffers from insomnia."

"I'm no' surprised to hear it."

"What do you mean, Mrs. M'Gregor?"

"Now, Mr. Keppel, laddie, ye're angry with me, and like enough I am
a meddlesome auld woman. But I know what a man will do for shining
een and a winsome face--nane better to my sorrow--and twa times have
I heard the Warning."

Stuart stood up in real perplexity. "Pardon my density, Mrs.
M'Gregor, but--er--the Warning? To what 'warning' do you refer?"

Seating herself in the chair before the writing-table, Mrs. M'Gregor
shook her head pensively. "What would it be," she said softly, "but
the Pibroch o' the M'Gregors?"

Stuart came across and leaned upon a corner of the table. "The
Pibroch of the M'Gregors?" he repeated.

"Nane other. 'Tis said to be Rob Roy's ain piper that gives warning