Duncan yielded, for the sake of better instruction
in the circumstances; over the whole of which Malcolm
now went. But before he came to a close, he had
skilfully introduced and enlarged upon the sorrows
and sufferings and dangers of the laird, so as to lead
the old man away from the quarrel, dwelling especially
on the necessity of protecting Mr Stewart from the
machinations of his mother. Duncan listened to
all he said with marked sympathy.
“An’ gien the markis daur to cross me
in ’t,” said Malcolm at last, as he ended,
“lat him leuk till himsel’, for it’s
no at a buffet or twa I wad stick, gien the puir laird
was intill ’t.”
This assurance, indicative of a full courageous intent
on the part of his grandson, for whose manliness he
was jealous, greatly served to quiet Duncan; and he
consented at last to postpone all quittance, in the
hope of Malcolm’s having the opportunity of a
righteous quarrel for proving himself no coward.
His wrath gradually died away, until at last he begged
his boy to take his pipes, that he might give him
a lesson. Malcolm made the attempt, but found
it impossible to fill the bag with his swollen and
cut lips, and had to beg his grandfather to play to
him instead. He gladly consented, and played
until bedtime; when, having tucked him up, Malcolm
went quietly to his own room, avoiding supper and the
eyes of Mrs Courthope together. He fell asleep
in a moment, and spent a night of perfect oblivion,
dreamless of wizard lord or witch lady.
Some days passed during which Malcolm contrived that
no one should see him: he stole down to his grandfather’s
early in the morning, and returned to his own room
at night. Duncan told the people about that he
was not very well, but would be all better in a day
or two. It was a time of jubilation to the bard,
and he cheered his grandson’s retirement with
music, and with wild stories of highland lochs and
moors, chanted or told.
Malcolm’s face was now much better, though the
signs of the blow were still plain enough upon it,
when a messenger came one afternoon to summon him
to the marquis’s presence.
“Where have you been sulking all this time?”
was his master’s greeting.
“I havena been sulkin’, my lord,”
answered Malcolm. “Yer lordship tauld me
to haud oot o’ the gait till I was fit to be
seen, an’ no a sowl has set an ee upo’
me till this verra moment ’at yer lordship has
me in yer ain.”
“Where have you been then?”
“I’ my ain room at nicht, and doon at
my gran’father’s as lang’s fowk
was aboot—wi’ a bit dauner (stroll)
up the burn i’ the mirk.”
“You couldn’t encounter the shame of being
seen with such a face —eh?”
“It micht ha’ been thoucht a disgrace
to the tane or the tither o’ ’s, my lord—maybe
to baith.”
“If you don’t learn to curb that tongue
of yours, it will bring you to worse.”
