"Well," said Wat, more cheerfully, like a man who knows it is vain to fight against his destiny, "let us all go there together to-night."
The women sprang up and clapped their hands.
"Scarlett," cried Kate, "ferry us across in the boat at once."
"What may be the great hurry?" he said. "The trouts are frying fine."
"We are going back to Earlstoun," said Kate, with decision in her tone.
"Is the auld hoose on fire, or what's a' the red-hot haste?" called Scarlett, from the kitchen, where he was superintending the sprinkling of oatmeal on the trouts—a delicate operation.
"Man, the bairn may be greeting!" said Will Gordon; whereat Wat Gordon suddenly laughed aloud—and then just judgment seemed about to descend upon them. But their several wives looked at each other to decide which should be the executioner. "After all," said the four eyes, as they took counsel, "is it worth it?" It was enough that they were men—nothing could be expected of that breed when it came to a matter of the finer feelings.
Jean Gordon came anxiously panting up the stairs.
"You will be the better o' your suppers afore ye gang ony sic roads at this time of night," she said, determinedly.
So in a trice the trouts were brought in, and Scarlett sat down along with Lochinvar and his guests, for such was the sweet and honorable custom of the tower.