"True, Halbert," said Lady Grizel, "for the hour waxes late; but," she added, striking her cane on the floor, "we will require a coach, for, late or early, we must return in such state as befits us."
"Hab," said Walter, "hurry to the Portsburgh, and desire the master of the inn there immediately to send his hackney coach (I know he keeps one), with horses to drag it, and link-boys conform."
"He is a dour auld carl, I ken," replied Hab, throwing off his bandoleers, and preparing to start. "Our inquartering there a month ago, has neither improved his temper or gudewill. It will be the dead hour of night when I tirl his pin, and he may refuse to obey me."
"How, if you say the coach is for a lady of quality."
"For me, Halbert?" added Lady Grizel with dignity.
"Ay, madam, and ask my authority."
"Then show him the blade of your sword," said Walter: "'tis the best badge of authority to an insolent boor."
"But the auld buckie, though round as a puncheon, of Rhenish, can handle backsword and dagger, double and single falchions like any French sword-player; and look ye, Mr. Fenton, though a bare blade passed well enough in the Low Countries under Condé, or in the west under Claver'se, it will not do at all within sound of the Iron Kirk bell."
"Right, Halbert; we have neither law nor reason for browbeating the poor vintner; but faith, our living so long at free quarters has imparted to us a somewhat imperious mode of requiring service at all hands. Get the coach as you may, Hab, but be speedy."
"And Hab, my son," cried Elsie with anxiety, "keep the middle o' the gate till ye come to the place o' the Highrigs; and gif ye hear aught like the bummel o' a wee drum amang the lang grass or fauld-dykes by the wayside, neither quicken nor slacken your pace."