On a sudden I set the portmanteaus to the ground and halted. He turned and looked back at me.
“Well?” said he.
“You are the Master of Ballantrae?”
“You will do me the justice to observe,” says he, “that I have made no secret with the astute Mackellar.”
“And in the name of God,” cries I, “what brings you here? Go back, while it is yet time.”
“I thank you,” said he. “Your master has chosen this way, and not I; but since he has made the choice, he (and you also) must abide by the result.—And now pick up these things of mine, which you have set down in a very boggy place, and attend to that which I have made your business.”
But I had no thought now of obedience; I came straight up to him. “If nothing will move you to go back,” said I; “though, sure, under all the circumstances, any Christian, or even any gentleman, would scruple to go forward....”
“These are gratifying expressions,” he threw in.
“If nothing will move you to go back,” I continued, “there are still some decencies to be observed. Wait here with your baggage, and I will go forward and prepare your family. Your father is an old man; and....” I stumbled ... “there are decencies to be observed.”
“Truly,” said he, “this Mackellar improves upon acquaintance. But look you here, my man, and understand it once for all—you waste your breath upon me, and I go my own way with inevitable motion.”