a wrathful man to see, as he strode up to the youth with clenched
fist.

"Haud frae the mere, for God's sake, Maister Crathie," cried Malcolm.
But even as he spoke, two reversed Moorish arches of gleaming
iron opened on the terror quickened imagination of the factor
a threatened descent from which his most potent instinct, that of
self preservation, shrank in horror. He started back white with
dismay, having by a bare inch of space and a bare moment of time,
escaped what he called Eternity. Dazed with fear he turned and
had staggered halfway across the yard, as if going home, before he
recovered himself. Then he turned again, and with what dignity he
could scrape together said--"MacPhail, you go about your business."

In his foolish heart he believed Malcolm had made the brute strike
out.

"I canna weel gang till Stoat comes hame," answered Malcolm.

"If I see you about the place after sunset, I'll horsewhip you,"
said the factor, and walked away, showing the crown of his hat.

Malcolm again smiled oddly, but made no reply. He undid the mare's
halter, and took her into the stable. There he fed her, standing
by her all the time she ate, and not once taking his eyes off her.
His father, the late marquis, had bought her at the sale of the
stud of a neighbouring laird, whose whole being had been devoted
to horses, till the pale one came to fetch himself: the men about
the stable had drugged her, and, taken with the splendid lines of
the animal, nor seeing cause to doubt her temper as she quietly