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"Why, Elspat? why?" asked Roland, pausing over the liver wing of a chicken, while Runlet filled his glass with sparkling Moselle.

"Because the dogs in the kennel howled fearfully."

"Where was the keeper?"

"A' the keepers in the world wouldna quiet them!" she replied, shaking her old head.

"Why?"

"Dogs can see and ken when death enters a house."

"Death!—is my father's case so bad?" asked Roland, growing very pale, and setting down his glass.

"Bad—it couldna weel be worse," said she, in a broken voice, as she began to weep; "but the doctor—"

"Is in the house, I understand. Tell him that I am here. Oh, Elspat, have I crossed the broad Atlantic only to face death and sorrow?"

"Death and sorrow!" she added, shaking her head, "and I dread the fifth of August—it has aye been a fatal day to the Ruthvens. It was on that day your lady mother died, and on that day your uncle Philip, that should have been Laird, went forth and returned no more!"

Roland started impatiently to his feet, and something of a disdainful smile crossed his handsome face.