When he was haled, pale and trembling before the enraged wife of the Mac-Gregor, what was Frank's astonishment to discover that he was none other than Morris, the very same man who had accused him of the robbery of his portmanteau at Squire Inglewood's, and whom he had last seen in the Glasgow College Yards, walking and talking with Rashleigh Osbaldistone.
A brief command to her followers—and the wretched man was bound. A heavy stone was tied about his neck in a plaid, and he was hurled instantly into the depths of the lake, where he perished, amid the loud shouts of vindictive triumph which went up from the clan.
INTERLUDE OF EXPOSTULATION
"Oh, do go on," said Sweetheart, actually pushing the narrator's arm, as if to shake more of the tale out of him. "What a perfectly horrid place to stop at! Tell us what happened after."
"Nothing more happened to Morris, I can promise you that!" I replied.
"That's not nice of you," said Sweetheart. "I am quite sorry for the poor man—in spite of all he had done!"
"Well, I'm not," said Sir Toady Lion, truculently, "he deserved it all, and more. He has done nothing but tell lies and betray people all through the story—right from the very beginning."
"Besides, he was afraid!" said Hugh John, with whom this was the sin without forgiveness.
"Well," said Sweetheart, "so am I afraid often—of mice, and rats, and horrid creeping things."
"Huh," said Sir Toady, crinkling up his nose, "you are a girl—of course you are afraid!"