"You'll hear from me in the morning, my lad," said the marquis in
a kindly tone, as they were leaving the room.
"I hae no wuss to hear onything mair o' yer lordship. Ye hae done
eneuch this nicht, my lord, to mak ye ashamed o' yersel' till yer
dyin' day--gien ye hed ony pooer o' shame left in ye."
The military youth muttered something about insolence, and made
a step towards him. Malcolm quitted his grandfather, and stepped
again into his room.
"Come on," he said.
"No, no," interposed the marquis. "Don't you see the lad is hurt?"
"Lat him come on," said Malcolm; "I hae ae soon' han'. Here, my
lord, tak the wapons, or the auld man 'll get a grip o' them again."
"I tell you no," shouted Lord Lossie. "Fred, get out--will you!"
The young gentleman turned on his heel, and Malcolm led his grandfather
from the house without further molestation. It was all he could
do, however, to get him home. The old man's strength was utterly
gone. His knees bent trembling under him, and the arm which rested
on his grandson's shook as with an ague fit. Malcolm was glad indeed
when at length he had him safe in bed, by which time his hand had
swollen to a great size, and the suffering grown severe.
Thoroughly exhausted by his late fierce emotions, Duncan soon fell
into a troubled sleep, whereupon Malcolm went to Meg Partan, and
begged her to watch beside him until he should return, informing
her of the way his grandfather had been treated, and adding that
he had gone into such a rage, that he feared he would be ill in
consequence; and if he should be unable to do his morning's duty,
it would almost break his heart.
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