“Is this man coming?” exclaimed the Doctor at last; and another messenger was sent, while the women huddled together, whispering, and more than one thinking that that morning’s occurrences might result in a general discharge of servants, and a breaking up of the Castle establishment.
At last, though, there was the sound of footsteps, and very slowly and leisurely the Scotch gardener made his appearance, walking with the cumbersome gait of the men of the scythe and spade—slow, as a rule, as the growth of the plants they tend.
“Now, for Heaven’s sake, be smart, my good fellow!” exclaimed the Doctor.
“Ye’ll be wanting the door open, will ye?” said Alexander, slowly.
“Yes—yes!” exclaimed the Doctor impatiently.
“And have ye got authoughreety of Sir Moorray to force it open?” said Alexander.
“My good man, this is no time for authority. Make haste, and break open the door.”
“I’m no cheecan, gentlemen,” said Alexander, with the most aggravating coolness; “but I’ve got a verra good seetuation here, and I should be sore fashed if I had to luse it throw being rash. Sir Moorray might be verra angered with me for breaking the door.”
“My good man, I’d take all responsibility,” exclaimed the Rector. “Pray, be quick!”
“Weel, then, eef that’s the case, gentlemen,” said Alexander, refreshing his high-bridged nose with a pinch of snuff—“eef that’s the case, I’ll just go and fetch my tools.”