"Mr Crathie left wi' fower horses frae the Lossie Airms last nicht,
my lord," said Malcolm; "but the ro'ds are ill, an' she winna be
here afore sometime the morn."
The marquis stared aghast: they had sent for her without his orders.
"What shall I do?" he murmured. "If once I look in her eyes, I
shall be damned. Malcolm!"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Is there a lawyer in Portlossie?"
"Yes, my lord; there 's auld Maister Carmichael."
"He won't do! He was my brother's rascal. Is there no one besides?"
"No in Portlossie, my lord. There can be nane nearer than Duff
Harbour, I doobt."
"Take the chariot and bring him here directly. Tell them to put
four horses to. Stokes can ride one."
"I'll ride the ither, my lord."
"You'll do nothing of the kind: you're not used to the pole."
"I can tak the leader, my lord."
"I tell you you're to do nothing of the kind!" cried the marquis
angrily. "You're to ride inside, and bring Mr--what's his name?
back with you."
"Soutar, my lord, gien ye please."
"Be off, then. Don't wait to feed. The brutes have been eating all
day, and they can eat all night. You must have him here in an hour."
In an hour and a quarter, Miss Horn's friend stood by the marquis's
bedside. Malcolm was dismissed, but was presently summoned again
to receive more orders.
Fresh horses were put to the chariot, and he had to set out once
more--this time to fetch a justice of the peace, a neighbour
laird. The distance was greater than to Duff Harbour; the roads
were worse; the north wind, rising as they went, blew against them
as they returned, increasing to a violent gale; and it was late
before they reached Lossie House.
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