I dinna
see 'at the deil sud hae 't a' his ain gait, as gien we war a' fleyt
at him. Fowk hae threepit upo' me that there i' the gloamin' they
hae seen an' awsome face luikin' in upo' them throu' that slap i'
the wa'; but I never believed it was onything but their ain fancy,
though for a' 'at I ken, it may ha' been something no canny. Still,
I say, wha 's feart? The Ill Man has no pooer 'cep ower his ain
kin. We 're tellt to resist him an' he'll flee frae 's."
"A good story, and well told," said the marquis kindly. "Don't you
think so, Florimel?"
"Yes, papa," Lady Florimel answered; "only he kept us waiting too
long for the end of it."
"Some fowk, my leddy," said Malcolm, "wad aye be at the hin'er en'
o' a'thing. But for mysel', the mair pleased I was to be gaein'
ony gait, the mair I wad spin oot the ro'd till 't."
"How much of the story may be your own invention now?" said the
marquis.
"Ow, nae that muckle, my lord; jist a feow extras an' partic'lars
'at micht weel hae been, wi' an adjective, or an adverb, or sic
like, here an' there. I made ae mistak' though; gien 't was you
hole yonner, they bude till hae gane doon an' no up the stair to
their chaumer."
His lordship laughed, and, again commending the tale, rose: it was
time to re-embark--an operation less arduous than before, for in
the present state of the tide it was easy to bring the cutter so
close to a low rock that even Lady Florimel could step on board.
As they had now to beat to windward, Malcolm kept the tiller in
his own hand.
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