When Malcolm entered, he found the marquis alone.
"Is Morrison here at last?" he cried in a feeble, irritated voice.
"Yes, my lord."
"What the devil kept you so long? The bay mare would have carried
me there and back in an hour and a half."
"The roads war verra heavy, my lord. An' jist hear till the win'!"
The marquis listened a moment, and a frightened expression grew
over his thin, pale, anxious face.
"You don't know what depends on it," he said, "or you would have
driven better. Where is Mr Soutar?"
"I dinna ken, my lord. I'm only jist come, an' I've seen naebody."
"Go and tell Mrs Courthope I want Soutar. You'll find her crying
somewhere--the old chicken! because I swore at her. What harm
could that do the old goose?"
"It'll be mair for love o' yer lordship than fricht at the sweirin',
my lord."
"You think so? Why should she care? Go and tell her I'm sorry.
But really she ought to be used to me by this time! Tell her to
send Soutar directly."
Mr Soutar was not to be found, the fact being that he had gone to
see Miss Horn. The marquis flew into an awful rage, and began to
curse and swear frightfully.
"My lord! my lord!" said Malcolm, "for God's sake, dinna gang on
that gait. He canna like to hear that kin' o' speech--an' frae
ane o' his ain tu!"
The marquis stopped, aghast at his presumption, and choking with
rage; but Malcolm's eyes filled with tears, and instead of breaking
out again, his master turned his head away and was silent.
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