“Is Mr Glennie with you?” asked his master feebly.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Tell him to come here at once.”
When Malcolm returned with the lawyer, the marquis directed him to set a table and chair by the bedside, light four candles, get everything necessary for writing, and go to bed.
CHAPTER LXIX.
THE MARQUIS AND THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Before Malcolm was awake, his lordship had sent for him. When he re-entered the sick-chamber, Mr Glennie had vanished, the table had been removed, and instead of the radiance of the wax lights, the cold gleam of a vapour-dimmed sun, with its sickly blue-white reflex from the wide-spread snow, filled the room. The marquis looked ghastly, but was sipping chocolate with a spoon.
“What w’y are ye the day, my lord?” asked Malcolm.
“Nearly well,” he answered; “but those cursed carrion-crows are set upon killing me—damn their souls!”
“We’ll hae Leddy Florimel sweirin’ awfu’, gien ye gang on that gait, my lord,” said Malcolm.
The marquis laughed feebly.