"Yes, my lord."
"What the devil kept you so long? The bay mare would have carried me there and back in an hour and a half."
"The roads war verra heavy, my lord. An' jist hear till the win'."
The marquis listened a moment, and a frightened expression grew over his thin, pale, anxious face. "You don't know what depends on it," he said, "or you would have driven better. Where is Mr. Soutar?"
"I dinna ken, my lord. I'm only jist come, an' I've seen naebody."
"Go and tell Mrs. Courthope I want Soutar. You'll find her crying somewhere—the old chicken!—because I swore at her. What harm could that do the old goose?"
"It'll be mair for love o' yer lordship than fricht at the sweirin', my lord."
"You think so? Why should she care? Go and tell her I'm sorry. But really she ought to be used to me by this time. Tell her to send Soutar directly."
Mr. Soutar was not to be found, the fact being that he had gone to see Miss Horn. The marquis flew into an awful rage, and began to curse and swear frightfully.
"My lord! my lord!" said Malcolm, "for God's sake, dinna gang on that gait. He canna like to hear that kin' o' speech; an' frae ane o' his ain' tu!"