"
"Did I ask your advice?" said the marquis sternly.
"It's nane the waur 'at it 's gien oonsoucht," said Malcolm. "It's
the richt thing ony gait."
"You presume on this foolish report about you, I suppose, MacPhail,"
said his lordship; "but that won't do."
"God forgie ye, my lord, for I hae ill duin' 't!" (find it difficult)
said Malcolm.
He left them and walked down to the foamy lip of the tide, which
was just waking up from its faint recession. A cold glimmer, which
seemed to come from nothing but its wetness, was all the sea had
to say for itself.
But the marquis smiled, and turned his face towards the wind which
was blowing from the south.
In a few moments Malcolm came back, but to follow behind them, and
say nothing more that night.
The marquis did not interfere with the fishermen. Having heard of
their rudeness, Mr Cairns called again, and pressed him to end the
whole thing; but he said they would only be after something worse,
and refused.
The turn things had taken that night determined their after course.
Cryings out and faintings grew common, and fits began to appear.
A few laid claim to visions,--bearing, it must be remarked, a
strong resemblance to the similitudes, metaphors, and more extended
poetic figures, employed by the young preacher, becoming at length
a little more original and a good deal more grotesque. They took
to dancing at last, not by any means the least healthful mode of
working off their excitement.
Pages:
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481