Mrs Findlay made a long reach, caught Lizzy by the arm, and dragged her forth, looking scared and white, with a red spot upon one cheek. No one dared to bar Meg’s exit with her prize; and the marquis, with Lady Florimel and Malcolm, took advantage of the opening she made, and following in her wake soon reached the open air.
Mrs Findlay was one of the few of the fisher-women who did not approve of conventicles, being a great stickler for every authority in the country except that of husbands, in which she declared she did not believe: a report had reached her that Lizzy was one of the lawless that evening, and in hot haste she had left the porridge on the fire to drag her home.
“This is the second predicament you have got us into, MacPhail,” said his lordship, as they walked along the Boar’s Tail—the name by which some designated the dune, taking the name of the rock at the end of it to be the Boar’s Craig, and the last word to mean, as it often does, not Crag, but Neck, like the German kragen, and perhaps the English scrag.
“I’m sorry for ’t, my lord,” said Malcolm; “but I’m sure yer lordship had the worth o’ ’t in fun.”
“I can’t deny that,” returned the marquis.
“And I can’t get that horrid shriek out of my ears,” said Lady Florimel.
“Which of them?” said her father. “There was no end to the shrieking. It nearly drove me wild.”
“I mean the poor girl’s who sat beside us, papa. Such a pretty nice-looking creature too! And that horrid woman close behind us all the time! I hope you won’t go again papa. They’ll convert you if you do, and never ask your leave. You wouldn’t like that, I know.”
“What do you say to shutting up the place altogether?”
“Do, papa. It’s shocking. Vulgar and horrid!”