"Silence!" replied Clermistonlee, in a voice of rage, for he writhed under this pointed remark, having once been a staunch covenanter; "silence, rascal, and remember that on yonder bench there lieth a bodkin of steel, for boring the tongue that wags too freely."
"Enough of this," said the Chancellor, striking the table impatiently with his hand; "Mr. Secretary, attend, and note answers. Walter Fenton, you are doubtless well aware of where the ladies of Bruntisfield are concealed, and can enlighten us thereon."
"I swear to you, most noble Earl, that I know not!"
"Ridiculous!" said his tormenter, Clermistonlee, who was under the influence of wine. "Say instantly, or by all the devils, if there is any marrow in your bones, we shall see it shortly:" with his gold-headed cane he significantly touched the iron boots that lay near.
"Hath he been searched according to the act of council, whilk ordains,—sae forth," said Mersington; "for some of Madam Napier's perfumed carolusses may be found in his pouch."
"Nothing was found on him, my Lord," replied Maclutchy, "save a sang or twa, a wheen gun matches, twa dice, a wine bill o' Hughie Blair's—the Council's orders to the Forces—and—and—"
"And what, Sir?"
"A few white shillings, my Lord."
"Whilk ye keepit, I suppose."
The macer scratched his head and bowed.