St. Agnes' Eve—ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was acold,
The hare limped trembling thro' the frozen grass;
And silent was the flock in woolly fold!
—Keats.

A freezing night. Faustina shook as with an ague-fit, and her teeth chattered like a pair of castanets, as she crouched down in one corner of the back seat and huddled all her wrappings close about her. But the cold still seemed to penetrate through all her furs and velvets and woolens and enter the very marrow of her bones.

Beside her sat the viscount, silent, grim, and still, as though he were congealed to ice. Before her sat the two policemen, well wrapped up in their greatcoats and thick shawls.

All were silent except Faustina. She shook and moaned and chattered incessantly. Such a mere animal was this wretched woman that she was quite absorbed in her present sufferings. While enduring this intense cold she could not look forward to the terrors of the future.

"It's insufferable!" she exclaimed, fiercely stamping her feet; "can you not make this beast of a carriage closer, then? My flesh is stone and my blood is ice, I tell you."

One window had been left open a little way, to let a breath of air into the carriage, which, crowded with four persons, was otherwise stifling. But the viscount now raised both his fettered hands and closed up the window. The arrangement did not prove satisfactory. It deprived the sufferers of air without making them any warmer. Faustina shook and moaned and chattered all the same.

"Oh, wretches!" she exclaimed, in furious disgust; "open the window again! I am suffocated! I am poisoned! They have all been eating garlic and drinking whisky!"

The window was opened at her desire, but as they were then crossing the narrow isthmus of rock that connected the castle steep with the land, the wind, from that exposed position, was cutting sharp, and drove into the aperture the stinging snow, which entered the skin like needle points.

"Ah, shut it! shut it! It kills me! It is infamous to treat a poor little lady so!" she cried, bursting into tears.

Again the window was closed; but not for any length of time. Apparently she could neither bear it open nor shut. So, shaking, moaning, and complaining, the poor creature was taken through that long and bitter night journey which ended at last only at the station house of Banff.

Half dead with cold, she was lifted out of the carriage by the two policemen who stood upon the sidewalk, where she remained, shaking, chattering, and weeping tears that froze upon her cheeks as they fell.

She could see nothing in that dark street but the gloomy building before her, dimly lighted by its iron lamp above the doorway.

There she remained till the viscount was handed out.

"Cuthbert," said his lordship to the old man, who had exposed himself to the severe weather of this night and driven the carriage for the sake of being near his master as long as possible, "Cuthbert, take the carriage around to the 'Highlander' and put up there for the night. We shall want it to take us back to the castle to-morrow, after this ridiculous farce is over."

"Verra weel, me laird," replied old Cuthbert, touching his hat with all the more deference because his master was suffering degradation.

"Ah! is it so? Will we really get back to the castle to-morrow?" whimpered Faustina, shaking, chattering, and wringing her hands.

"Of course we will," replied his lordship.

"Ah, but how shall I get through the night? I must have a good fire and a comfortable bed, and something warm to drink. Will you see to it, Malcolm?" she whiningly inquired.

"Don't be a fool!" was the gentlemanly reply; for the viscount burned with half-suppressed rage against the woman. whose fatal beauty had led him into all this disgrace.

She burst into a passion of tears.

"That is the reward I get for all my love!" she exclaimed.

"Faustina, for your own sake, if not for any other's, exercise some discretion!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.

"Villain!" she screamed, in fury, "I had no discretion when I listened to you!"

"I wish to Heaven you had had then! I should not have been in this mess," he replied.

"Ah!" she hissed. "If my hands were not fettered I would tear your eyes!"

"Sweet angel!" sneered the viscount, in mockery and self-mockery.

"Thsche!" she hissed, "let me at him!"

The viscount laughed, a hard, bitter, scornful laugh.

And at it they went, criminating and recriminating, until the empty carriage was driven away, and the policemen took them by the shoulders and pushed them into the station house.

They found themselves in a large stone hall, with iron-grated windows. It was partially warmed with a large, rusty stove, around which many men of the roughest cast were gathered, smoking, talking, and laughing. The walls were furnished with rude benches, upon which some men sat, some reclined, and some lay at full length. The stone floor was wet with the slop of the snow that had been brought in by so many feet and had melted. In one of these slops lay a woman, dead drunk.

"Ah! Good God! I cannot stay here!" cried Faustina, gathering up her skirts, as well as she could with her fettered hands, and looking around in strong disgust.

The viscount laughed in derision; he was angry, desperate, and he rejoiced in her discomfiture.

"Eh, Saunders! take these two women in the women's room," said McRae, beckoning a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed Scot to his assistance.

"Hech! it will take twa o' the strongest men here to lift yon lassie," replied the man, lumbering slowly along towards the prostrate woman, and trying to raise her. If he failed in lifting her, he succeeded in waking her, and he was saluted for his pains with a volley of curses, to which he replied with a shake or two.

"Oh, horror! I will not stay here!" cried Faustina, stamping with rage.

"Attend to her, Christie. Dunlap, help Saunders to remove that woman," said McRae.

Two of the policemen succeeded in raising the fallen woman, and leading her between them into an adjoining room. The man addressed as "Christie" would have taken Faustina by the arm, and led her after them, but that she fiercely shook herself from his grasp.

"Follow then and ye like, lass; but gae some gait ye maun, ye ken," said the man good-naturedly.

She glanced around the dreary room, upon the grated windows, the sloppy floor, the rusty stove, and the wretched men, and finally seemed to think that she could not do better than to leave such a repulsive scene.

"Go along, then, and I will follow, only keep your vile hands off me," said Faustina, gathering up her dainty raiment and stepping carefully after her leader. As she did so she turned a last look upon Lord Vincent. The viscount had thrown himself upon a corner of one of the benches, where he sat, with his fettered hands folded together, and his head bent down upon his breast, as if he were in deep despair.

"Imbecile!" was the complimentary good-night thrown by his angel, as she passed out of the hall into the adjoining room. This—the women's room—was in all respects similar to the men's hall, being furnished with the like grated windows, rusty iron stove, and rude benches. Along, on these benches, or on the floor, were scattered wretched women in every attitude of self-abandonment; some in the stupor of intoxication; some in the depths of sorrow; some in stony despair; some in reckless defiance.

The men who had come in with the drunken woman deposited her on one of the benches, from which she quickly rolled to the floor, where she lay dead to all that was passing around her. Her misfortune was greeted with a shout of laughter from the reckless denizens of this room; but that shout was turned into a deafening yell when their eyes fell upon Faustina's array.

"Eh, sirs! wha the deil hae we here fra the ball?" they cried, gathering around her with curiosity.

"Off, you wretches!" screamed Faustina, stamping at them.

"Hech! but she hae a temper o' her ain, the quean," said one.

"Ou, aye, just! It will be for sticking her lad under the ribs she is here," surmised another.

"Eh, sirs, how are the mighty fa'en!" exclaimed a third, as they closed around her, and began to closely examine her rich dress.

"Rabble! how dare you?" screamed Faustina, fiercely twitching herself away from them.

"Eh! the braw furs and silks! the town doesna often see the loike o' them," said the first speaker, lifting up the corner of the rich sable cloak.

"Wretch, let alone!" shrieked Faustina, stamping frantically.

The uproar brought Policeman Christie to the scene.

"Take me away from this place directly, you beast! How dare you bring me among such wretches?" screamed the poor creature.

"My lass, I hae na commission to remove you. I dinna ken what ye hae done to bring yoursel' here; but here ye maun bide till the morn," said Christie kindly and composedly.

"I will not, I say! What have I done to be placed among these vile wretches?" she persisted, stamping.

"I dinna ken, lassie, as I telled ye before; but joodging by your manners, I suld say ye hae guided yoursel' an unco' ill gait. But howe'er that will be, here ye maun bide till the morn. And gin ye will heed guid counsel, ye'll haud your tongue," said Christie, at the same time good-naturedly setting down the hamper that contained Faustina's luxuries. She did not want it. She threw herself down upon one of the benches and burst into a passion of tears.

The women gathered around the hamper, and quickly tore off the lid and made themselves acquainted with its contents.

But Faustina did not mind. She was too deeply distressed to care what they did. The contents of the hamper were now of no use to her. The "good fire, the comfortable bed, the warm beverage" that she had vehemently demanded were unattainable, she knew, and she cared for nothing else now.

While Faustina, regardless that her famished fellow-prisoners were devouring her cakes, fruits, and wine, gave herself up to passionate lamentations, another scene was going on in the men's hall.

Lord Vincent sat gnawing his nails and "glowering" upon the floor in his corner. From time to time the door opened, letting in a gust of wind, sleet, and snow, and a new party of prisoners; but the viscount never lifted his eyes to observe them.

At length, however, he looked up and beckoned Constable McRae to his side.

"Here, you, fellow! I would like to see your warrant again. I wish to know who is my accuser."

"Judge Randolph Merlin, my lord, of the United States Supreme Court," answered McRae, once more taking out his warrant and submitting it to the inspection of his prisoner.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the viscount affectedly. "Randolph Merlin! He has come to the country, I suppose, to look after his daughter; and finding that these negroes are among the missing, has pretended to get up this charge against me! It will not answer his purpose, however. And I only wonder that any magistrate in his senses should have issued a warrant for the apprehension of a nobleman upon his unsupported charge."

"Pray excuse me, my lord, but the charge was not unsupported," said
McRae respectfully.

"How—not unsupported?"

"No, my lord. The judge had for witnesses the three negroes, and—"

"The three negroes!" exclaimed the viscount, recoiling in amazement; but quickly recovering his presence of mind, he added: "Oh! aye! of course! they ran off with my plate, and I suppose they have succeeded in effectually secreting it and eluding discovery. And now I suspect they have been looked up by their old master and persuaded to appear as false witnesses against me. Ha, ha, ha! what a weak device! I am amazed that any magistrate should have ventured upon such testimony to have issued a warrant for my apprehension."

"I beg your pardon, my lord; but theirs was not the only testimony. There were several gentlemen present, fellow-voyagers of Judge Merlin, who testified to the finding of the negroes in a state of slavery in Cuba; their testimony corroborates that of the negroes," said McRae.

Lord Vincent went pale as death.

"What does that mean? Oh, I see! it is all a conspiracy," he said, with an ineffectual effort at derision.

But at that moment there was a bustle outside; the door was thrown open, and another prisoner was brought in by two policemen.

"What is the matter? Who is it now?" inquired McRae, going forward.

"We have got him, sir," said a constable.

"Who?" demanded McRae.

"The murderer, sir!" answered the policeman, at the same moment dragging into view the assassin of Ailsie Dunbar, the ex-valet of Lord Vincent, Alick Frisbie.

Heavily fettered, his knees knocking together, pale and trembling, the wretch stood in the middle of the floor.

"Where did you take him?" inquired McRae.

"At the 'Bagpipes,' Peterhead," replied the successful captor.

"Pray, upon what charge is he arrested?" inquired the viscount, in a shaking voice, that he tried in vain to make steady.

"A trifle of murder, among other fancy performances," said McRae.

At this moment Frisbie caught sight of his master and set up a howl, through which his words were barely audible:

"Oh, my lord, you will never betray me! You will never be a witness against me! You will never hang me! You promised that you would not!"

"Hold your tongue, you abominable fool! What the fiend are you talking about? Do you forget yourself, sir?" roared the viscount, furious at the fatal folly of his weak accomplice.

"Oh, no, my lord, I do not forget myself! I do not forget anything. I beg your lordship's pardon for speaking, and I will swear to be as silent as the grave, if your lordship will only promise not to—"

"Will you stop short where you are, and not open your mouth again, you insufferable idiot!" thundered the viscount.

Frisbie gulped his last words, whined and crouched like a whipped hound, and subsided into silence.

And soon after this McRae and the other officers who were off duty for the remainder of the night went home and the doors were closed.

A miserable night it was to all within the station house, and especially to that guilty man and woman who had been torn from their luxurious home and confined in this dreary prison. All that could revolt, disgust, and utterly depress human nature seemed gathered within its walls. Here were drunkenness, deadly sickness, and reckless and shameless profanity, all of the most loathsome character. And all this was excruciating torture to a man like Lord Vincent, who, if he was not refined, was at least excessively fastidious. There was no rest; every few minutes the door was opened to receive some new prisoner, some inebriate, or some night-brawler picked up by the watch, and brought in, and then would ensue another scene of confusion.

An endless night it seemed, yet it came to an end at last, The morning slowly dawned. The pale, cold, gray light of the winter day looked sadly through the falling snow into the closely-grated, dusty windows. And upon what a scene it looked. Men were there, scattered over the floor and upon the benches in every stage of intoxication; some stupid, some reckless, some despairing; some sound asleep; some waking up and yawning, and some walking about impatiently.

As the day broadened and the hour arrived for the sitting of the police magistrate, the policemen came in and marched off the crowd of culprits to a hall in another part of the building, where they were to be examined. Even the women were marched out from the inner room after the men. It seemed that all the lighter offenders were to be disposed of first.

Lord Vincent and Frisbie were left alone in charge of one officer.

"When are we to be examined?" demanded the viscount haughtily of this man.

"I dinna ken," he answered, composedly lighting his pipe and smoking away.

Lord Vincent paced up and down the wet and dirty stone floor, until at length the door opened and McRae, the officer who arrested him, entered.

"Ah, you have come at last. I wish to be informed why we have been left here all this time? Everyone else has been removed," exclaimed the viscount.

"My lord, those poor creatures who were brought here during the night were not arrested for any grave offense. Some were brought in only to keep them from perishing in the snowstorm, and others for drunkenness or disorder. The sitting police magistrate disposes of them. They will mostly be discharged. But you, my lord, are here upon a heavy charge, and you are to go before Sir Alexander McKetchum."

"Why, then, do you not conduct me there? Do you mean to keep me in this beastly place all day?"

"My lord, your examination is fixed for ten o'clock; it is only nine now," said McRae, passing on to the inner room, from which he presently appeared with Faustina.

Wretched did the poor creature look with her pale and tear-stained face, her reddened eyes and disheveled hair; and her rich and elegant white evening dress with its ample skirts and lace flounces bedraggled and bedabbled with all the filth of the station house.

"I have had a horrid night! I have been in worse than purgatory. I have not closed my eyes. I wish I was dead. See what you have brought me to, Malcolm! And—only look at my dress!" sobbed the woman.

"Your dress! That is just exactly what I am looking at. A pretty dress that to be seen in. What the demon do you think people will take you for?" sneered his lordship.

"I do not know! I do not care! poor trampled lily that I am!"

"Poor trampled fool! Why didn't you change that Merry Andrew costume for something plainer and decenter before you left the castle?"

"Why didn't you tell me to do it, then? I never thought of it.
Besides, I didn't know what this beast of a station house was like.
No carpets, no beds, no servants. And I'm dying for want of them
all. And now I must have my breakfast. Why don't you order it,
Malcolm?" she whimpered.

"I am afraid they do not provide breakfasts any more than they do other luxuries for the guests of this establishment," replied the viscount, with a malignant laugh.

"But I shall starve, then," said the poor little animal, bursting into tears.

"I cannot help it," replied the viscount, very much in the same tone as if he had said: "I do not care."

But here McRae spoke:

"My lord, there is nearly an hour left before we shall go before the magistrate. If you wish, therefore, you can send out to some hotel and order your breakfast brought to you here."

"Thank you; I will avail myself of your suggestion. Whom can I send?" inquired the viscount.

"Christie, you can go for his lordship," said McRae to his subordinate, who had just entered the hall.

Christie came forward to take the order.

"What will you have?" inquired Lord Vincent, curtly addressing his "sweet angel."

"Oh, some strong coffee with cream, hot rolls with fresh butter, and broiled moor hen with currant jelly," replied Faustina.

Lord Vincent wrote his order down with a pencil on a leaf of his tablets, tore it out and gave it to Christie, saying:

"Take this to the 'Highlander' and tell them to send the breakfast immediately. Also inquire for my servant, Cuthbert Allan, who is stopping there, and order him to put my horses to the carriage and bring them around here for my use."

The man bowed civilly and went out to do this errand.

In about half an hour he returned, accompanied by a waiter from the "Highlander," bringing the breakfast piled up on a large tray, unfolded the cloth and spread it upon one of the benches and arranged the breakfast upon it.

"Did you see my servant?" inquired Lord Vincent of his messenger.

"Yes, me laird, and gi'e him your order. The carriage will be round," replied the man.

As the viscount and his companion drew their bench up to the other bench upon which their morning meal was laid, Mr. Frisbie, who had been sitting in a remote corner of the hall with his head buried on his knees, got up and humbly stood before them, as if silently offering his services to wait at table.

"He here!" exclaimed Faustina, in amazement.

"Yes, he is in the same boat with us. Go sit down, Frisbie; we don't need you," said Lord Vincent. And the ex-valet retired and crouched in his corner like a repulsed dog.

Trouble did not take away the appetite of Mrs. Dugald. It does not ever have that effect upon constitutions in which the animal nature largely preponderates. She ate, drank, and wept, and so got through a very hearty repast. Lord Vincent, having swallowed a single cup of coffee, which constituted the whole of his breakfast, sat and watched her performances with unconcealed scorn.

Before Faustina got through Officer McRae began impatiently to consult his large silver turnip.

"It is time to go," he said at length.

But Faustina continued to suck the bones of the moor hen, between her trickling tears.

"We must not keep the magistrate waiting," said McRae.

But Faustina continued to suck and cry.

"I am sorry to hurry you, madam; but we must go," said McRae decisively.

"Ah, bah! what a beastly place! where a poor little lady is not permitted to eat her breakfast in peace!" she exclaimed, throwing down the delicate bone at which she had been nibbling, and fiercely starting up.

As she had not removed her bonnet and cloak during the whole night she was quite ready.

As they were going out Lord Vincent pointed to Frisbie and inquired:

"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.