When Mrs. Gordon came to herself, she thought to behave as if nothing had happened, and rang the bell to order her carriage. The maid informed her that the coachman had driven away with it before lunch, and had not said where he was going.

 

‘Driven away with it!’ cried her mistress, starting to her feet; ‘I gave him no orders!’

 

‘I saw the laird giein him directions, mem,’ rejoined the maid.

 

Mrs. Gordon sat down again. She began to remember what her son had said when first he gave her the carriage.

 

‘Where did he send him?’ she asked.

 

‘I dinna ken¹, mem.’

 

‘Go and ask the laird to step this way.’

 

‘Please, mem, he’s no i’ the hoose. I ken, for I saw him gang—hoors ago.’

 

‘Did he go in the carriage?’

 

‘No, mem; he gaed upo’ ’s ain fit.’

 

‘Perhaps he’s come home by this time!’

 

‘I’m sure he’s no that, mem.’

 

Mrs. Gordon went to her room, all but finished the bottle of whisky, and threw herself on her bed.

 

Toward morning she woke with aching head and miserable² mind. Now dozing³, now tossing about in wretchedness, she lay till the afternoon. No one came near her, and she wanted no one.

 

At length, dizzy and despairing, her head in torture, and her heart sick, she managed to get out of bed, and, unable to walk, literally⁴ crawled to the cupboard in which she had put away the precious bottle:—joy! there was yet a glass in it! With the mouth of it to her lips, she was tilting⁵ it up to drain the last drop, when the voice of her son came cheerily from the drive, on which her window looked down:

 

‘See what I’ve brought you, mother!’ he called.

 

Fear came upon her; she took the bottle from her mouth, put it again in the cupboard, and crept back to her bed, her brain like a hive buzzing with devils.

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