'My brother!' said the marquis. 'What do you mean? I have no brother!'
'Ye hae mair brithers than ye ken o', Lord Sandy, and I'm ane o' them,' said Shargar.
'You are either a liar or a bastard, then,' said the marquis, who had not been brought up in a school of which either self-restraint or respect for women were prominent characteristics.
Falconer forgot himself for a moment, and made a stride forward.
'Dinna hit him, Robert,' cried Shargar. 'He ance gae me a shillin', an' it helpit, as ye ken, to haud me alive to face him this day.—No liar, my lord, but a bastard, thank heaven.' Then, with a laugh, he instantly added, 'Gin I had been ain brither to you, my lord, God only knows what a rascal I micht hae been.'
'By God, you shall answer for your damned insolence,' said the marquis, and, lifting his riding-whip from the table where he had laid it, he approached his brother.
Mysie rang the bell.
'Haud yer han', Sandy,' cried Shargar. 'I hae faced mair fearsome foes than you. But I hae some faimily-feelin', though ye hae nane: I wadna willin'ly strike my brither.'
As he spoke, he retreated a little. The marquis came on with raised whip. But Falconer stepped between, laid one of his great hands on the marquis's chest, and flung him to the other end of the room, where he fell over an ottoman. The same moment the servant entered.
'Ask your mistress to oblige me by coming to the drawing-room,' said Mysie.