“Why not, man? what can hinder you?”
“I wad speak a word wi’ young Mr. Lovel.”
“With me?” answered Lovel: “what would you say with me? Come, say on, and be brief.”
The mendicant led him a few paces aside. “Are ye indebted onything to the Laird o’ Monkbarns?”
“Indebted!—no, not I—what of that?—what makes you think so?”
“Ye maun ken I was at the shirra’s the day; for, God help me, I gang about a’ gates like the troubled spirit; and wha suld come whirling there in a post-chaise, but Monkbarns in an unco carfuffle—now, it’s no a little thing that will make his honour take a chaise and post-horse twa days rinnin’.”
“Well, well; but what is all this to me?”
“Ou, ye’se hear, ye’se hear. Weel, Monkbarns is closeted wi’ the shirra whatever puir folk may be left thereout—ye needna doubt that—the gentlemen are aye unco civil amang themsells.”
“For heaven’s sake, my old friend”—
“Canna ye bid me gang to the deevil at ance, Mr. Lovel? it wad be mair purpose fa’ard than to speak o’ heaven in that impatient gate.”