“Humph!” said he. “It wasna' sae ill to jag a man that had a wound already.”
“Expiscate, good Master Mungo,” said Count Victor, wondering. “What wound already? You speak of the gentleman's susceptible heart perhaps?”
“I speak o' naethin' o' the kind, but o' the man's airm. Ye ken fine ye gied him a push wi' your whinger that first night he cam' here wi' his fenci-ble gang frae the Maltland and play-acted Black Andy o' Arroquhar.”
“The devil!” cried Count Victor. “I wounded somebody, certainly, but till now I had no notion it might be the gentleman himself. Well, let me do him the justice to say he made rather pretty play with his weapon on the sands, considering he was wounded. And so, honest Mungo, the garrison was not really taken by surprise that night you found yourself plucked out like a periwinkle from your wicket? As frankness is in fashion, I may say that for a while I gave you credit for treason to the house, and treason now it seems to have been, though not so black as I thought. It was MacTaggart who asked you to open the door?”
“Wha else? A bonny like cantrip! Nae doot it was because I tauld him Annapla's prophecy aboot a man with the bare feet. The deil's buckie! Ye kent yersel' brawly wha it was.”
“I, Master Mungo! Faith, not I!”
Mungo looked incredulous.
“And what ails the ladyship, for she kent? I'll swear she kent the next day, though I took guid care no' to say cheep.”
“I daresay you are mistaken there, my good Mungo.”
“Mistaken! No me! It wasna a' thegither in a tantrum o' an ordinar' kind she broke her tryst wi' him the very nicht efter ye left for the inns doon by. At onyrate, if she didna' ken then she kens noo, I'll warrant.”