Part 64 (1/2)

”I'm the Markis o' Lossie,” said Malcolm.

Every man but Peter laughed again: all took it for a joke precursive of some serious announcement. That which it would have least surprised them to hear, would have been that he was a natural son of the late marquis.

”My name 's Ma'colm Colonsay,” resumed Malcolm, quietly; ”an' I'm the saxt Markis o' Lossie.”

A dead silence followed, and in doubt, astonishment, bewilderment, and vague awe, accompanied in the case of two or three by a strong inclination to laugh, with which they struggled, belief began. Always a curious observer of humanity, Malcolm calmly watched them. From discord of expression, most of their faces had grown idiotic. But after a few moments of stupefaction, first one and then another turned his eyes upon Blue Peter, and perceiving that the matter was to him not only serious but evidently no news, each began to come to his senses, the chaos within him slowly arranged itself, and his face gradually settled into an expression of sanity--the foolishness disappearing while the wonder and pleasure remained.

”Ye mauna tak it ill, my lord,” said Peter, ”gien the laads be ta'en aback wi' the news. It's a some suddent s.h.i.+ft o' the win, ye see, my lord.”

”I wuss yer lords.h.i.+p weel,” thereupon said one, and held out his hand.

”Lang life to yer lords.h.i.+p,” said another.

Each spoke a hearty word, and shook hands with him--all except Girnel, who held back, looking on, with his right hand in his trouser pocket. He was one who always took the opposite side-- a tolerably honest and trustworthy soul, with a good many knots and pieces of cross grain in the timber of him. His old Adam was the most essential and thorough of dissenters, always arguing and disputing, especially on theological questions.

”Na,” said Girnel; ”ye maun saitisfee me first wha ye are, an' what ye want o' me. I'm no to be drawn into onything 'at I dinna ken a'

aboot aforehan'. I s' no tie mysel' up wi' ony promises. Them 'at gangs whaur they kenna, may lan' at the widdie (gallows).”

”Nae doobt,” said Malcolm, ”yer ain jeedgement 's mair to ye nor my word, Girnel; but saw ye ever onything in me 'at wad justifee ye in no lippenin' to that sae far 's it gaed?”

”Ow na! I'm no sayin' that naither. But what ha'e ye to shaw anent the privin' o' 't?”

”I have papers signed by my father, the late marquis, and sealed and witnessed by well known gentlemen of the neighbourhood.”

”Whaur are they?” said Girnel, holding out his hand.

”I don't carry such valuable things about me,” answered Malcolm.

”But if you go with the rest, you shall see them afterwards.”

”I'll du naething i' the dark,” persisted Girnel. ”Whan I see the peppers, I'll ken what to du.”

With a nod of the head as self important as decisive, he turned his back.

”At all events,” said Malcolm, ”you will say nothing about it before you hear from one of us again?”

”I mak nae promises,” answered Girnel, from behind his own back.

A howl arose from the rest.

”Ye promised a'ready,” said Blue Peter.

”Na, I didna that. I said never a word.”

”What right then had you to remain and listen to my disclosure?”

said Malcolm. ”If you be guilty of such a mean trick as betray me and ruin my plans, no honest man in Portlossie or Scaurnose but will scorn you.”

”There! tak ye that!” said Peter. ”An' I s' promise ye, ye s'

never lay leg ower the gunnel o' my boat again. I s' hae nane but Christian men i' my pey.”

”Ye hired me for the sizon, Blew Peter,” said Girnel, turning defiantly.