"Gadzooks! old limb of Beelzebub, thou art drunk already; but hear me, Juden, if you fail in this service to-night, old though ye be, by the Heaven that hears us, I will handle my whip in such wise that a coffin will be your next resting place."
The eyes of the fierce Lord gleamed as he spoke, though his face was pale with that white fury which is ever the index of a bad and bitter heart, and is much more to be dreaded than the red flush of passion that suffuses a generous brow.
"How many followers hath the dame of Bruntisfield in her train to-night?"
"Four, my Lord—her chairmen."
"Armed, of course?"
"Like myself, ilk ane wi' a gude basket-hilted whinger. They are a' in Lucky Tippeny's Changehouse outbye, birling the ale cogue like sae many lords or troopers."
"All the better. Here is money—join them, and spare not to push the jorum till they become like blind puppies; but, peril of thy life, Juden, keep sober, though ale, usquebaugh, and even wine flow like water, if the knaves will it. When Lady Grisel summons them, if they are able to stand, by the head of the King I will truncheon thee in famous fashion. Dost comprehend, jolt-head?"
"The upshot, my Lord, the upshot?"
"When Lady Bruntisfield's people are summoned—but who is with you to-night?"
"The hail household—just Jock, my sister's son. Wha else would there be?"