'Weel,' said Robert, rising, 'I'll awa' hame, an' think aboot it as I gang.—Wad ye tak a feow shillin's frae an auld frien'?' he added with hesitation, putting his hand in his pocket.
'Na—no a baubee,' she answered. 'Nobody sall say it was for mysel' I broucht ye here. Come efter me, an' min' whaur ye pit doon yer feet. It's no sicker.'
She led him to the door. He bade her good-night.
'Tak care ye dinna fa' gaein' doon the stair. It's maist as steep 's a wa'.'
As Robert came from between the houses, he caught a glimpse of a man in a groom's dress going in at the street door of that he had left.
All the natural knighthood in him was roused. But what could he do? To write was a sneaking way. He would confront the baron. The baron and the girl would both laugh at him. The sole conclusion he could arrive at was to consult Shargar.
He lost no time in telling him the story.
'I tauld ye he was up to some deevilry or ither,' said Shargar. 'I can shaw ye the verra hoose he maun be gaein' to tak her frae.'
'Ye vratch! what for didna ye tell me that afore?'
'Ye wadna hear aboot ither fowk's affairs. Na, not you! But some fowk has no richt to consideration. The verra stanes they say 'ill cry oot ill secrets like brither Sandy's.'