“Ye can go back to your Edinburgh friends,” cried Robert with flashing eyes, “an’ tell them that e’en though ye found me almost on the verge of despair, with oblivion hovering dark over my still independent head, that I yet live in the hope of seeing the prophecy I made to them all that night fulfilled, and that Sir William Creech, my worst traducer, will be the first one to again court my favor.”
“I’ll hear no more such insulting language!” roared Sir William threateningly.
“Ye’ll not hear it t’other side of the door,” replied Robert quietly.
“Aye, but ye’ll get your fairin’ one of these days,” exclaimed Souter belligerently. “An’ ’twill be in hell, where they’ll roast ye like a herrin’,” he added grimly, much to Eppy’s horror.
“Open the door for me, fellow!” shouted Sir William wrathfully.
“Open it yoursel’,” replied Souter, “an’ I promise ye I’ll shut it behind your coattails mighty quick.”
“Out of my way, idiot,” and with a shove he brushed the little man aside and swiftly joined his waiting companion outside the gate.
“Did ye see that?” gasped Souter, his eyes flashing fire. “Did ye see that? Let me get after him,” and he started for the door, with blood in his eyes, but Eppy with a little shriek of alarm grabbed him by the plaidie and held on to him with all her strength, which was not slight.
“Don’t, dearie, don’t, you might get hurt!” she cried tearfully.
“Weel, if ye say not, why I’ll let him gae,” returned Souter submissively.