Her words, the fiery glance of anger she darted at Flora, and the tenor of the expostulation proved too much for the temper or the nerves of that young lady, who on being left to herself, burst into a passion of tears.
But a hand was laid on the lock of the door, as if some one was about to enter; and fearing it might be the Master, she started up and escaped by another door to her own apartment.
CHAPTER XVII.
FORTH INTO THE WORLD.
"This nicht is my departing nicht,
For here nae langer I maun stay;
There's neither friend or foe o' mine,
But wishes me away.
What I hae dune through lack o' wit,
I never, never can reca';
I hope you're a' my friends as yet—
Gude nicht, and joy be wi' ye a'."
Johnnie Armstrong's Good Night.
The knock-down blow given to Quentin by the butt-end of the clubbed fowling-piece, beside inflicting a severe wound which bled profusely, stunned him completely for a time, and in this condition he was found by the quartermaster, who was returning from having a jug of punch and a quiet rubber with our quaint friend the dominie at his little thatched cottage in the village.
Great were the alarm and concern of the kind-hearted veteran when he found his young friend and favourite in a condition so pitiable. He raised him, tied a handkerchief over his wound to stanch the bleeding; then gradually as consciousness returned, Quentin remembered all that had occurred, and told Girvan of his meeting with the Master—the unmerited and unexpected insolence of the latter, his sudden assault, and that was all he knew.
The disquiet of the ex-quartermaster was greatly increased on hearing of a fracas so unseemly and so dangerous, and he knew in a moment that it contained more elements of discord than Quentin admitted or perhaps knew; though he was ignorant of the Master's abrupt proposal, the garden-scene, and of the subsequent expostulation, which was in progress at that moment, and which we have detailed in the preceding chapter.
"I can't blame you, my boy," said the old soldier, half communing with himself, and shaking his head till his pigtail swung like a pendulum; "I can't blame ye," he repeated, as he gave Quentin his arm, and together they walked slowly towards the castle; "ye are young—the temptation is great, though I hae long since forgotten all of such matters, save that love-making tendeth to mischief."
"Quartermaster," stammered Quentin, "I don't understand, what——"