“Then at least we’ll have your company part of the way,” said John, and the three of us walked slowly off, the young gentleman with no great warmth at the idea, which was likely to spoil his excursion to some degree. M’Iver took the place between us, and in the rear, twenty paces, came the gille cas-fleuch.
“I have been bargaining for a horse up here,” said John in a while, “and I’m anxious that Elrigmore should see it. You’ll have heard I’m off again on the old road.”
“There’s a rumour of it,” said MacLachlan, cogitating on his own affairs, or perhaps wondering what our new interest in his company was due to.
“Ah! it’s in my blood,” said John, “in my blood and bones! Argile was a fairly good master—so to call him—but—well, you understand yourself: a man of my kind at a time like this feels more comfortable anywhere else than in the neighbourhood of his chief.”
“I daresay,” replied MacLachlan, refusing the hook, and yet with a sneer in his accent.
“Have you heard that his lordship and I are at variance since our return from the North?”
“Oh! there’s plenty of gossip in the town,” said MacLachlan. “It’s common talk that you threw your dagger in his face. My father, who’s a small chief enough so far as wealth of men and acres goes, would have used the weapon to let out the hot blood of his insulter there and then.”
“I daresay,” said M’Iver. “You’re a hot-headed clan. And MacCailein has his own ways.”
“He’s welcome to keep them too,” answered the young fellow, his sneer in no ways abated I became afraid that his carefully curbed tongue would not give us our opening before we parted, and was inclined to force his hand; but M’Iver came in quickly and more astutely.
“How?” said he; “what’s your meaning? Are you in the notions that he has anything to learn of courtesy and gallantry on the other side of the loch at Strath-lachlan?”