"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.