"Thank ye kindly, Master Michael Scott," said Charlie; "I'm feared ilk ane winna be o' your opinion."
The friar then took from the side-pockets of his frock a few scraps of parchment, amounting to fifteen. Twelve of these he marked with a red cross, and three with a black one, to prevent all infernal interference; then rolling them closely up, he counted them all into his cowl before his companions, and, shaking them together, he caused every one to do the same. Then putting the cowl into the virgin's hand, they desired her to hold it until they drew forth their scraps one by one. She did so, while her bright eyes were drowned in tears, and each of the candidates put in his hand, selecting his lot.
"Let them be opened, one by one, before all these witnesses," cried the Master; "that no suspicions of foul play whatever may remain."
The friar drew forth his without one muscle of his unyielding features being altered, and turning deliberately about, he opened it before them all. It was red. The friar bowed his head, and made the sign of the cross. Charlie thrust in his hand,—pulled out a ticket,—and tore it open, all in one moment, and with the same impatience that he fought in a battle. His was likewise red.
"Gude faith I'm aince ower the water," said Charlie.
Tam put in his hand with a decision that would have done honour to a better man, the form of his mouth only being a little altered.
"Now, who will take me a bet of a three-year old cout," cried Gibbie, "that the next shall turn out a black one?" and he grinned a ghastly smile, in anticipation of the wished event. Tam kept his hand within the cowl for a good while, as if groping which to select. At length he drew one forth; and before he got it opened, Gibbie's long nose and his own had met above it, so eager was each of them to see what it contained. It was opened. Each of them raised up his face, and looked at the face of his opponent; but with what different expressions of countenance! The cross on the lot was red! Grief, dread, and disappointment were all apparent in the features of poor Jordan, while the exulting looks of his provoking neighbour were hardly to be endured.
"What think you o' that now, laird?" cried he. "What does that bring you in mind o'? Eh? I say, wha's jugular vein swells highest now; or wha's shoulder-blade stands maist need o' clawing?"
This was rather more than Gibbie was disposed at that juncture to bear; and when Tam, as he concluded, put forth his forefinger to ascertain the thickness of fat on the laird's ribs, the latter struck him with such force on the wrist, that he rendered his arm powerless for a space. He put his hand to his sword, but could not grasp it; while Gibbie, seeing the motion, had his out in a twinkling; and if the staunch friar had not turned it aside, he would have had it through the heart of the deil's Tam in a second, which might have prevented the further drawing of lots for that present time, and thereby put an end to a very critical and disagreeable business. Gibbie was far from being a hot or passionate man; but whether his rage was a manœuvre to put by the decision, or if he really was offended at being handled like a wedder for slaughter, the curate pretends not to guess. He however raged and fumed exceedingly, and tried again and again to wound Tam, while the rest were remonstrating with him; nor would he be pacified, until Tam's disabled arm by degrees regaining somewhat of its pristine nerve, he retreated back towards the battlement for sword-room, and dared the laird to the combat. Gibbie struggled hard; but finding that they were about to let him go, his wrath subsided a little; he put up his sword, and said the whole business reminded him of a story of the laird of Tweelsdon and his two brothers, which he assured them was a prime story, and begged permission to tell it. This was protested against with one voice until the business of the lots was decided, and then all were willing to hear it. "Oh, the lots? that is quite true," said Gibbie: "I declare that business had gone out of my head. Let us see what casts up next." There was a relaxation in every muscle of Gibbie's face as he put his hand into the cowl. But Gibbie's was a sort of a cross face. It did not grow long and sallow as most other men's faces do when they are agitated. The jaws did not fall down, they closed up; so that his face grew a great deal shorter and broader. The eye-brows and the cheek-bones met, and the nose and chin approached to a close vicinity. He drew forth the momentous scrap, and, with fumbling and paralytic hand, opened it before them. The cross was black. He dared not lift his eyes to any face there save to Delany's, and when he saw it covered with tears his looks again reverted that way. This lot it is true was not decisive, yet it placed Gibbie on ticklish ground; it having been agreed, that whoever should draw the two first black crosses, subjected himself to immolation, if the necessity of the case required it. The great Master and Tam were visibly well pleased with the wicked chance that had fallen to the laird. The motives of the former for this delight were quite a mystery to those who beheld it; as for Tam, he seemed determined to keep no more terms with poor Gibbie.
The poet also drew a red one; and then it was decreed, that the next round Gibbie should have his choice of the time, if he judged it any advantage either to be first or last. He seemed quite passive, and said it was all one to him, he should draw at any time they chose, and desired his friend Yardbire, as he termed him, to choose for him. Charlie said he deemed the first chance the best, as he had then four chances to be right, for one of being wrong; and it would be singular indeed if his hand fixed on a black cross again for a time or two, when more of them might be on an equal footing.