"Well—who next?" asked the corporal, while buckling on his sword.
"Sir Basil Gauntlet, at the hall—or his nephew, the young Laird that is to be."
"Worse still!" I exclaimed, passionately; "I shall not go before them either."
"Zounds, but you are hard to please," said Charters as he eyed me keenly, but with something of commiseration too. "What is your name?"
"That I shall tell the magistrate," I replied, evasively, not having yet thought of a nom de guerre. Then the corporal asked me—
"Is this Sir Basil a relation, a connection, or what?"
The landlord laughed while eyeing my scurvy appearance, as if he thought it very unlikely I could be either; my breast burned with suppressed mortification and rage, but I continued calmly,
"It matters little—I go not before him."
"You are regularly enlisted, my lad," said the corporal, soothingly, "and must go before some one."
"Try the rector," said I.