“Well, I suppose, as you are a personal friend of the idiot——”
His lordship had thought to sting him, and paused for a moment; but Malcolm’s manner revealed nothing except waiting watchfulness.
“—I must employ some one else to get a hold of the fellow for her,” he concluded.
“Ye winna du that, my lord,” cried Malcolm, in a tone of entreaty; but his master chose to misunderstand him.
“Who’s to prevent me, I should like to know?” he said.
Malcolm accepted the misinterpretation involved, and answered— but calmly:
“Me, my lord. I wull. At ony rate, I s’ du my best.”
“Upon my word!” exclaimed Lord Lossie, “you presume sufficiently on my good nature, young man!”
“Hear me ae moment, my lord,” returned Malcolm. “I’ve been turnin’ ’t ower i’ my min’, an’ I see, plain as the daylicht, that I’m bun’, bein’ yer lordship’s servan’ an’ trustit by yer lordship, to say that to yersel’ the whilk I was nowise bun’ to say to Mistress Stewart. Sae, at the risk o’ angerin’ ye, I maun tell yer lordship, wi’ a’ respec’, ’at gien I can help it, there sall no han’, gentle or semple, be laid upo’ the laird against his ain wull.”
The marquis was getting tired of the contest. He was angry too, and none the less that he felt Malcolm was in the right.