“A grand place for gulls and kittiwakes and sea-crows!” he said. “But where is it, pray, that a fisherman like you gets such extravagant notions?—How do you come to think of such things?”
“Thoucht’s free, my lord. Gien a thing be guid to think, what for sudna a fisher-lad think it? I hae read a heap aboot auld castels an’ sic like i’ the history o’ Scotlan’, an’ there’s mony an auld tale an’ ballant aboot them.—Jist luik there, my leddy: ye see yon awfu’ hole i’ the wa’, wi’ the verra inside o’ the hill, like, rushin’ oot at it?—I cud tell ye a fearfu’ tale aboot that same.”
“Do let us have it,” said Florimel eagerly, setting herself to listen.
“Better wait till we land,” said the marquis lazily.
“Ay, my lord; we’re ower near the shore to begin a story.—Slack the mainsheet, Peter, an’ stan’ by the jib-doonhaul.—Dinna rise, my leddy; she’ll be o’ the grun’ in anither meenute.”
Almost immediately followed a slight grating noise, which grew loud, and before one could say her speed had slackened, the cutter rested on the pebbles, with the small waves of the just-turned tide flowing against her quarter. Malcolm was over-board in a moment.
“How the deuce are we to land here?” said the marquis.
“Yes!” followed Florimel, half-risen on her elbow, “how the deuce are we to land here?”
“Hoot, my leddy!” said Malcolm, “sic words ill become yer bonny mou’.”
The marquis laughed.