"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.
Mr. Soutar came.
"Fetch Morrison," said the marquis, "and go to bed."
The wind howled terribly as Malcolm ascended the stairs and half felt
his way, for he had no candle, through the long passages leading to
his room. As he entered the last a huge vague form came down upon
him like a deeper darkness through the dark. Instinctively he stepped
aside.
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