But in the vicinity of the Tower, that evening, there hovered a knot of stalwart men, uncertain as it seemed whether to enter or no. The younger ones were for pressing forward; the most eager among them was Angus Macalpine, himself longing to become the head of a household, and remembering Flora’s limit “no till we get back to the glen;” but the highest and most potent of the group hung back.
“Man, Duncan, we’re no wanting to vex him. I’ve as muckle honor for the Laird as on a’ man o’ my name—only it’s our right to have an answer. If he’s no gaun to buy back the land, maybe we could make favor wi’ whaever does. We belong to the ground, and the ground to us, Duncan—we’ve a right to seek an answer at the hands of our chief.”
“It a’ sounds very just that, Angus,” said Big Duncan Macalpine; “but the Laird’s a distressed man, that hasna siller to give for the redemption of his inheritance and ours. Think ye onything but extremity could have garred him time the lands as he did? or think ye there can be siller enough gathered in ae year to buy back Strathoran? I tell ye, lads, I ken the Laird, and if he’s maybe wasted his substance like a prodigal—I dinna dispute he has, and we’re a’ bearing the burden—he keeps aye a kind heart. Now, here are we, coming to him, young men and auld of us, that have been hunted from our hames. He kens it’s his wyte, and he kens he canna mend it; and what can we do but gie him a sair heart, and what can he say but that it grieves him? If he had the power we wad be hame again the morn; but he hasna the power, and wherefore should we make his cup bitterer wi’ putting our calamity before him and saying it’s his blame?”
The reasoning of Big Duncan was strong like himself—the men fell back—but Angus was still eager.
“The auld man at the ingleside wrestles night and day to get quiet deein’ in his ain house in the glen. He’s wandered in his mind since ever yon weary day—aye, when he’s no at his exercise—he’s clear enough then; and if ye heard him, just to get hame that he may fa’ asleep in peace, ye wadna be sae faint-hearted. I’m no meaning that you’re faint-hearted either; but the Laird hasna had sae muckle thought o’ us, that we should be sae mindfu’ o’ him.”
“You’re an inconsiderate lad, Angus,” said Big Duncan; “but for the auld man’s sake we may wait a while here. Maybe the Laird may pass this gate—yonder’s somebody.”
“It’s the Laird,” exclaimed Angus—forward as he had been before, he shrank back now. The man who had opposed the measure was left to be the spokesman.
Archibald had observed them from a window, and came towards them rapidly. Duncan lifted his bonnet—no servile sign, as smaller spirits in the arrogance of their so-called equality would assert, but the independent respect of an honorable poor man, who in his chief’s good fame had an individual stake, and was himself honored. He was at some loss how to frame his speech.
“I trust,” said Archibald, hastily, “I trust I shall have it in my power very shortly to redress your wrongs. You have suffered innocently—I justly; but we have both had some trials of faith and patience since we last met. Trust me the power shall not be in my hands a moment sooner than the will, to make amends to you for your loss—the bitterest hour of all this bitter twelvemonth was the one in which I heard of your wrong. There are two months yet between us, and the time which shall decide the proprietorship of Strathoran. I hope then, through my friend’s help, to be able to redeem my inheritance and yours—if I succeed, have no fear—I will not spend an hour in unnecessary delay till you again enter Oranmore in peace.”
These men did not cheer him—we are by no means loud in our demonstrations in Scotland—but their rough features moved and melted, and some eyelids swelled full. Archibald was a little excited too.