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pitch, that crooked pins and rowan-tree do next to nae good at a'—Bless us a'! I wush the minister war come.

DUNGARREN.

And you have your wish, Nurse; for here he is.

Enter Rutherford, in a hurried, bewildered manner.

LADY DUNGARREN.

My good Sir, you are welcome: but my heart reproaches me for having brought you from home in such a dreadful night.—What is the matter with you?

DUNGARREN.

He cannot speak.

LADY DUNGARREN.

Sit down in this chair, my good Sir. He is going to faint.

[Dungarren supports him, and places him in an easy chair; then fetches him a glass of water, which he swallows hastily.]

DUNGARREN.

Has the lightning touched you, dear Sir?

RUTHERFORD.

Not the lightning.