"What!--you have n't been refusing to--?"
"Deed hev I, my lord!"
"Tut! tut!--Have you brought me any message from her?"
He spoke rather angrily.
"Nane but that she wasna weel, an' wad write the morn."
The marquis thought for a few moments.
"If I make a personal matter of it, MacPhail--I mean--you won't
refuse me if I ask a personal favour of you?"
"I maun ken what it is afore I say onything, my lord."
"You may trust me not to require anything you could n't undertake."
"There micht be twa opinions, my lord."
"You young boor! What is the world coming to? By Jove!"
"As far 's I can gang wi' a clean conscience, I'll gang,--no ae
step ayont," said Malcolm.
"You mean to say your judgment is a safer guide than mine?"
"No, my lord; I micht weel follow yer lordship's jeedgment, but
gien there be a conscience i' the affair, it's my ain conscience
I'm bun' to follow, an' no yer lordship's, or ony ither man's.
Suppose the thing 'at seemed richt to yer lordship, seemed wrang
to me, what wad ye hae me du than?"
"Do as I told you, and lay the blame on me."
"Na, my lord, that winna haud: I bude to du what I thoucht richt,
an' lay the blame upo' naebody, whatever cam o' 't."
"You young hypocrite! Why did n't you tell me you meant to set up
for a saint before I took you into my service?"
"'Cause I had nae sic intention, my lord. Surely a body micht ken
himsel' nae sant, an' yet like to haud his han's clean!"
"What did Mrs Stewart tell you she wanted of you?" asked the marquis
almost fiercely, after a moment's silence.
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