"Dinna ye think it wad be better to lock the door, for fear the
shot sud bring ony o' the fowk?" suggested Malcolm, as he rose to
his knees and leaned his hands on a chair.
"You're bent on murdering me--are you then?" said the marquis,
beginning to come to himself and see the ludicrousness of the
situation.
"Gien I had been that, my lord, I wadna hae waukent ye up first."
"Well, what the devil is it all about?--You needn't think any
of the men will come. They're a pack of the greatest cowards ever
breathed."
"Weel, my lord, I hae gruppit her at last, an' I bude to come an
tell ye.''
"Leave your beastly gibberish. You can speak what at least resembles
English when you like."
"Weel, my lord, I hae her unner lock an' keye."
"Who, in the name of Satan?"
"Mistress Catanach, my lord!"
"Damn her eyes! What's she to me that I should be waked out of a
good sleep for her?"
"That's what I wad fain yer lordship kent: I dinna."
"None of your riddles! Explain yourself;--and make haste; I want
to go to bed again."
"'Deed, yer lordship maun jist pit on yer claes, an' come wi'."
"Where to?"
"To the warlock's chaumer, my lord--whaur that ill wuman remains
'in durance vile,' as Spenser wad say--but no sae vile's hersel',
I doobt."
Thus arrived at length, with a clear road before him, at the opening
of his case, Malcolm told in few words what had fallen out. As
he went on, the marquis grew interested, and by the time he had
finished, had got himself into dressing gown and slippers.
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