“My humble service, Sir Robert, to uttermost power. I’m a wee ahint the appointed time; but some o’ my witnesses were slack in coming forward; though I’m glad and proud to think that you’ll find them a’ leal and true men that wadna forswear themsel’s for a King’s ransom. Gude kens! I dinna wish to wheedle ony man oot o’ his richts, far less my neighbour, Royston Scott, though he has lang borne enmity to me without cause. I see I’m before-hand wi’ him: he’s no’ on the field yet.”
“No,” answered the Sheriff, “and if he delays much longer, I shall adjourn the meeting to another day.”
“He’s a thrawart tyke, as I ken to my cost,” replied Ballinshaw, shaking his head. “We micht ha’e lived in gude neighbourhood, and settled a’ disputes ower a friendly flagon; but na—he wad carry a’thing ower my head, kenning that I was a man o’ peace. I durstna hunt ower the ground ayont the burn. He slauchtered my hounds, chased my serving-men, and vowed that if I mysel’ daured to set foot across the holm, he wad be my death. Now, he ne’er had a shadow o’ richt to the ground; for, time out o’ mind, my forbears hunted ower it to the foot o’ the hill yonder, without let or hindrance.”
“And I presume you are possessed of legal evidence to prove your claim?” said the Sheriff. “Charters, and so forth?”
“Deil a scrap o’ write ha’e I, my lord—mair’s the pity,” responded Lauder, feigning a smile. “Ance in a day there was a muckle iron-banded kist, panged fu’ o’ musty parchments, that stood in the closet o’ the south turret; but a’e nicht the closet took fire, and kist and charters were burned to eizels, and gaed up in the air like peelings o’ ingans. Still, my witnesses are passing gude; and, Sir Robert, let me say—”
“They shall be heard in due course,” said the Sheriff. “Defer your statements till the proper time. I cannot listen to either party until both are present.”
“That’s gude law; for ilka man’s tale is gude till anither’s be tauld,” returned Ballinshaw. “But what I ha’e yet to say is meant for your private ear.”
“My duty is to act publicly, not privately,” said the Sheriff; but not willing to be harsh, he added—“If what you wish to say does not concern the case in hand, I am ready to hear you. Say on, and be brief.”
Ballinshaw took hold of the knight’s bridle, and led him slowly away out of earshot of the assemblage. “Sir Robert,” said the crafty Laird, coming to a stand, and speaking low, “as you cannot but be satisfied in your ain mind that I am likeliest, frae auld use and wont, to ha’e the richtfu’ claim to the disputed ground—”
“Stay,” interrupted the Sheriff, angrily. “This still affects the arbitration. Would you have me to prejudge the case? I cannot, in conscience, listen to you.”