"It is here already," said she, "and that is the reason why I wished our meeting to be in this place. Fearing lest my father should come home, and prevent me getting it from the house, I brought it out and concealed it here."
With these words, she made a few steps aside; and, as she stooped down to bring her little keepsake from under the empty sacks which covered it, instead of returning with it, she started and screamed. George flew to her assistance. Something seemed stirring among the sacks, as if an animal had been attempting to rise; he laid hold of it, and dragged a heavy body after him to the door. The moon, which was now up, showed his burden to be a man; and, grasping him by the collar—"Scoundrel!" he said, "what business had you there?" then, turning him round to have a better view of his face—"Duncan!" he added—his anger in some measure yielding to surprise—"I had nearly given you a thrashing; but you have been our guest, and assisted us in our difficulties, and I must hear from your own lips that you are guilty, before I pass sentence upon you." With these words he quitted his grasp.
The blood flushed Duncan's cheek, and for some seconds he seemed uncertain whether to offer resistance or sue for peace. At last he said—holding out his hand, which the other as frankly took—"If you had thrashed me, it would have been no more than I deserved. But perhaps you shall have no reason afterwards to repent of having spared yourself this labour; for, though I had my own reasons for doing as I have done"—
These words were spoken in good English, with an accent and a dignity altogether different from the speaker's former mode of speaking; but, before he could proceed, he was saluted, by a rough voice from behind, with the words—"I shall thrash you, you skulking vagabond!" And, at the same moment, he was grasped roughly by the collar by Mr. Black, who raised a heavy oaken cudgel to strike him on the head. Had that blow descended, the probability is that Duncan Cowpet would have slept with his fathers; but George Chrighton wrenched the stick from the hand of the infuriated man.
"Unchain the dog!" bawled Mr. Black, in a voice of thunder.
"I'll s-et loose Cae-sar," hickuped his son. But, instead of doing as he said, he lay down beside the animal, and began, in good earnest, to that operation which the "dog" must perform before he can "turn to his vomit."
Mr. Black still continued to keep a hold of Duncan with one hand, and to strike him with the other, till George, stepping behind him, threw him quietly down upon a quantity of straw; and he, too, began to discharge the contents of his over-loaded stomach. Nancy, who, up to this moment had stood in speechless terror, now stepped from the barn.
"Fly, fly," she whispered. "My father is drunk. I know it. He has never seen me; and you may escape. I will find some means of sending it. Fly, I conjure you!" And she pushed him gently from her.
On the following morning, Duncan was amissing; and, like a fool, he had run off and left his five guineas behind him. But the mystery was about to be cleared up. A little after daybreak, letters were delivered to the whole of the parties concerned, summoning them to meet the laird at an inn in the neighbourhood; and the surprise of all may be easily imagined when they discovered that Sir Patrick Felspar was no other than Duncan Cowpet in a different dress. The result was such as might have been expected from a laird who had learned the truth from observation and experience. We have only room to add, that shortly thereafter two marriages were celebrated—two individuals who had been accustomed to hold their heads high were effectually humbled; and, to this day, whenever any farmer, or other individual, is supposed to be dealing unfairly with his neighbours, it is a common saying in the district—"Send Duncan Cowpet, to see what he is about."