“Well, coz,” said his lordship, breaking an awkward silence, “we have an enormous and dastardly deed here to avenge.”
“We have that!” said M’Iver. “It’s a consolation that we are in the mood and in the position to set about paying the debt. Before the glad news came of your return, I was half afraid that our quarry would be too far gone ere we set loose the dogs on him. Luckily he can be little farther than Glenurchy now. Elrigmore and I had the honour to see the visitors make their departure. They carried so much stolen gear, and drove so big a prize of cattle, that I would not give them more than a twenty miles’ march to the day.”
“Will they hang together, do you think?” asked his lordship, fingering a crystal bottle for essence that lay on the ‘scrutoire.
“I misdoubt it,” said M’Iver. “You know the stuff, MacCailein? He may have his Irish still; but I’ll wager the MacDonalds, the Stewarts, and all the rest of that reiving crowd are off to their holds, like the banditty they are, with their booty. A company of pikes on the rear of him, as like as not, would settle his business.”
The Marquis, besides his dishevelment, was looking very lean and pale. I am wrong if I had not before me a man who had not slept a sound night’s sleep in his naked bed since the point of war beat under his castle window.
“Your arm, my lord “—I said in a pause of his conversation with Mlver, “is it a fashious injury? You look off your ordinary.”
“I do,” he said. “I daresay I do, and I wish to God it was only this raxed arm that was the worst of my ailment.”
His face burned up red in the candle-light, his nostrils swelled, and he rose in his chair. A small table was between us. He put his uninjured hand on it to steady himself, and leaned over to me to make his words more weighty for my ear.
“Do you know,” he added, “I’m Archibald, Marquis of Argile, and under the cope and canopy of heaven this January night there’s not a creature of God’s making more down in the heart and degraded than I? If the humblest servant in my house pointed a scornful finger at me and cried ‘Coward,’ I would bow my head. Ay, ay! it’s good of you, sir, to shake a dissenting head; but I’m a chief discredited. I know it, man. I see it in the faces about me. I saw it at Rosneath, when my very gardener fumbled, and refused to touch his bonnet when I left. I saw it to-night at my own table, when the company talked of what they should do, and what my men should do, and said never a word of what was to be expected of MacCailein Mor.”
“I think, my lord,” I cried “that you’re exaggerating a very small affair.”