"The wretch who shot Ruadh," replied Alister, "—to whom I gave his head, all to please Ian,—"
"Alister!" said Ian.
The chief understood, and retracted.
"—no, not to please Ian, but to do what Ian showed me was right:—I believe it was my duty!—I hope it was!—here's the murdering fellow sends me a cheque for ten pounds!—I told you, Ian, he offered me ten pounds over the dead body!"
"I daresay the poor fellow was sorely puzzled what to do, and appealed to everybody in the house for advice!"
"You take the cheque to represent the combined wisdom of the New
House?"
"You must have puzzled them all!" persisted Ian. "How could people with no principle beyond that of keeping to a bargain, understand you otherwise! First, you perform an action such persons think degrading: you carry a fellow's bag for a shilling, and then himself for nothing! Next, in the very fury of indignation with a man for killing the finest stag in the country on your meadow, you carry him home the head with your own hands! It all comes of that unlucky divine motion of yours to do good that good may come! That shilling of Mistress Conal's is at the root of it all!"
Ian laughed again, and right heartily. The chief was too angry to enter into the humour of the thing.
"Upon my word, Ian, it is too bad of you! What ARE you laughing at? It would become you better to tell me what I am to do! Am I free to break the rascal's bones?"
"Assuredly not, after that affair with the bag!"