"No, no--no violence, Macduff," said Mr. Cranston; "especially not to the king's people;" and he turned away into the house again.
Macduff stood sullenly on the steps of the hall, gazing with a bitter heart on the scene before him, till Mr. Alexander Ruthven, of Freeland, came up and spoke to him in a low tone, saying, "This is really too bad, Macduff; some order ought to be taken with these people."
"The king alone can do it, sir," replied the baron bailie; "and I doubt that he chooses to do so, otherwise he would have taken better care at first. I suppose he calls this spoiling the Egyptians."
"That scoundrel Christie has left all the doors open," said Mr. Ruthven.
"Ay, sir, I dare say he knows well what he's about; but I'll go and speak to him;" and walking up to the porter, followed closely by Mr. Ruthven, he said, "Hold your laughing, stupid tongue, and turn all those people out of the house, except the gentlemen. Then lock the doors, and keep them out."
"Deed, I shall do no such thing," answered Christie, turning from him with a dogged look. "I'm no to take my orders from you, I'se warrant, no better than a highland cateran."
Macduff laid his hand upon his dagger, and drew it half out of the sheath; but Mr. Ruthven caught his arm, exclaiming, "For God's sake, Macduff, keep peace! There's no telling where a broil would end if begun in such a scene as this. Come away, man--come away;" and he pulled the highlander by the arm to the other side of the court. "Watch his movements," he continued, when they were at some distance. "I doubt that man, Macduff, and it may be well to mark him."
"Ay, I'll mark him if I get hold of him," replied the other. "He's gone into his den now; and see, there are three or four others gone in after him."
"That's great Jimmy Bog, the king's porter at Falkland," said Mr. Ruthven.
"And that broad-shouldered fellow is Galbraith, one of the door-keepers at Holyrood," said Macduff. "What the de'il does the king do bringing such folk here? If they had been his grooms, or his huntsmen, one could understand it. I saw his cellarer about not long since--I'll tell you what, Mr. Ruthven, I don't like this at all. How it'll end I can't say, but ill I'm thinking. Here's my lord's house is not so much his own as that of every loon about the court."