"Faith, Randal, if you get your claws laid on the Bruntisfield barony, the rents thereof will puff your purse out brawly for a time. But alake! it's like a sieve that aye rins out—ever filling, but never full. Bethink ye, man, there is the auld mansion having the right of dungeon, pit and dule-tree, wi' the grange, mains, yards, orchards, stables, doo-cot, bake and brewhouses pertaining thereunto (o'd I've the haill inventory by heart). The four merk land o' auld extent named Nether Durdie bounded by the Burghloch—the fishings o' that water, the rigs, rowme and holm o' Drumdryan, wi' the farm-toun to the eastward thereof holden o' the city for ane crown-bowl o' punch yearly, and ane armed man's service, and whilk payeth 57 bolls o' wheat, twa firlots o' barley, forty and aught o' aitmeal, 64 gude fat capons, and sae forth—my certie! by twa women being relaxit frae the horn you have lost a' that, and deil kens how mickle mair."
"Fool—fool! this croaking maddens me!" exclaimed Clermistonlee, starting a second time from the table, and pacing about the room.
"Come—come, my Lord," said Mersington, putting on his wig; "he—he! ye may huff and hector at Juden as ye please, but these are hard words for a Swinton to swallow."
"I crave your pardon, gossip, but why torture me thus? I must have some signal and terrible revenge on Dunbarton for his interfering with me in this matter. Could we not bring him under suspicion of the Council?"
"A moral and physical impossibility."
"Juden would give him the contents of a carbine if I gave him a hint anent it."
"It would be wiser to let him alone. You would have his chief, the Marquis of Douglas, and every one of the name on ye like a nest o' hornets, for they are a proud and thrawart race, that winna thole steering. Ye maun train your hawks at other lures. Od's fish, man! his mad musqueteers would sack and slaughter the haill city."
"And Fenton!" continued the Lord, grinding his teeth, "I would travel to Jericho to have him within reach of my rapier—I would, d—n me—to pull his nose off! What a ravelled hesp is my fortune! My wounded hand, too——"
"Hee, hee! how can you expect it to heal, when the haill blude in your body is turning into burnt sack and sugared brandy?"
"It has kept me from prosecuting this affair. But I am getting desperate, Mersington; between love of the girl, lack of her lands, and fear of poverty, nothing now can save me but a dash."