"
"Whaur's yer warrant?" asked Malcolm coolly.
"Ye wad hae the impidence to deman' my warrant, ye young sorner!"
cried Bykes indignantly. "Come yer wa's, my man, or I s' gar ye
smairt for 't"
"Haud a quaiet sough, an' gang hame for yer warrant," said Malcolm.
"It's lyin' there, doobtless, or ye wadna hae daured to shaw yer
face on sic an eeran'."
Duncan, who was dozing in his chair, awoke at the sound of high
words. His jealous affection perceived at once that Malcolm was
being insulted. He sprang to his feet, stepped swiftly to the wall,
caught down his broadsword, and rushed to the door, making the huge
weapon quiver and whir about his head as if it had been a slip of
tin plate.
"Where is ta rascal?" he shouted. "She'll cut him town! Show her ta
lowlan' thief! She'll cut him town! Who'll be insulting her Malcolm?"
But Bykes, at first sight of the weapon, had vanished in dismay.
"Hoot toot, daddy," said Malcolm, taking him by the arm; "there's
naebody here. The puir cratur couldna bide the sough o' the
claymore. He fled like the autumn wind over the stubble. There's
Ossian for't."
"Ta Lord pe praised!" cried Duncan. "She'll be confounded her foes.
But what would ta rascal pe wanting, my son?"
Leading him back to his chair, Malcolm told him as much as he knew
of the matter.
"Ton't you co for a warrant," said Duncan. "If my lort marquis
will pe senting for you as one chentleman sends for another, then
you co.
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