"You will learn ere long," said his lord with a sternness that made the bluff butler's eyes to dilate with surprise; "but see that you are as prompt to act as to ask questions. You must bear a message from me to the Place."
"Eh? to Drumsheugh—at this time?"
"To Beatrix Gilruth."
"My Lord—I—I—" stammered Juden.
"Saddle a horse, ride round the loch, and tell her that the young lass she wots of will be there to-night, and that she must have some of the old rooms in the north wing, those that overlook the rocks, prepared for her reception."
"Where the gipsy was put, that we harled awa frae the west country?"
"What, the wench whom Holsterlee took off my hands, the same. You stare oddly—dost hear me fellow—art thou sober?"
"As a judge, my Lord."
"Then hear me and obey. Desire this hag, Beatrix, to have all prepared for my fair one's reception—fires lit and tapestry brushed, and, on peril of thine own life, be speedy and secret. Tarry neither there nor by the way, as I will want thee when the town drum beats at ten o'clock."
"She's an uncanny body, Lucky Gilruth, though I mind the time when there was not a bonnier lass in a' the Lowdens," said Juden, scratching his rough chin with undisguised perplexity; "but now, the auld wrinkled hizzie, she deserves the tar barrel as weel as lucky Elshendder."