"Sir," she said, "I believe you are an honest man, though I was positive ye were a rogue until this very minute."
The face of Muckle John was, for once, a medley of expressions, with that of irritation uppermost.
"I hope so," he replied shortly, "but I'm no perfect, ye ken."
"Why do ye want Rob out so much? He is no kin o' yours?"
He uttered an exclamation of impatience.
"What matter," he cried irritably. "Should I save his neck, is not that enough? Maybe I have an affection for the boy. Maybe it is because we are fellow-sufferers in the Cause."
"And maybe," broke in Miss Macpherson, "it is none of these good reasons at all."
To which he answered nothing, but seemed on the point of bursting into a violent rage, and then he fell back on silence, as though he were bitterly offended.
"Mistress Macpherson," he said stiffly, "one thing I can swear to, and that is that I mean Rob no ill; and this I promise you: that if you do as I ask, I will answer for his ultimate escape and safety," and, whipping out his bared dirk, he prepared to take the oath.
"Whisht," said Miss Macpherson, "dinna behave like a play-actor; I'll do what you want, and gladly, for his mither's sake, puir woman. But ye said there is an outer courtyard. How will Rob manage to get over that?"