“He takes a’ he wants, an’ no man says him nay. Were he to come here the nicht, I’d gi’ him a’ he asked an’ be thankit for my life when he left.”
“Well, I’m getting some interested in Mr. MacLane!” exclaimed Buckhart. “I don’t suppose he is around here now?”
“I canna tell. He comes an’ goes like the wind. He may be outside th’ door this minute, or he may be i’ Sutherland.”
Dunbar Budthorne was doing his best to repress a peculiar sensation that was creeping over him. He wanted something, but for the time he could not imagine what it was. Of a sudden he knew, and he turned pale as the truth dawned upon him. He was ready to give anything or do anything for a drink of liquor.
While the others chatted on this restlessness and craving grew on Budthorne. Finally, politely asking to be excused and saying he was going to his room, he rose from the table.
His sister gave him a glance of questioning apprehension, but he smiled on her reassuringly.
“You’re not ill, Dunbar?” she asked.
“Never felt better in my life,” he answered, and her mind was relieved.
Outside the dining-room door he encountered Aaron, who had left the room ahead of him.
“I’ there a’thing I could gi’ ye, sir?” inquired Aaron, with the utmost deference and solicitude.