“Have them not!” echoed Lord Dalgarno,—“Hast thou sent them to my lodgings, thou varlet? Did I not say I was coming hither?—What mean you by pointing to that money? What villainy have you done for it? It is too large to be come honestly by.”
“Your lordship knows best,” answered the scrivener, in great perturbation. “The gold is your own. It is—it is—”
“Not the redemption-money of the Glenvarloch estate!” said Dalgarno. “Dare not say it is, or I will, upon the spot, divorce your pettifogging soul from your carrion carcass!” So saying, he seized the scrivener by the collar, and shook him so vehemently, that he tore it from the cassock.
“My lord, I must call for help,” said the trembling caitiff, who felt at that moment all the bitterness of the mortal agony—“It was the law's act, not mine. What could I do?”
“Dost ask?—why, thou snivelling dribblet of damnation, were all thy oaths, tricks, and lies spent? or do you hold yourself too good to utter them in my service? Thou shouldst have lied, cozened, out-sworn truth itself, rather than stood betwixt me and my revenge! But mark me,” he continued; “I know more of your pranks than would hang thee. A line from me to the Attorney-General, and thou art sped.”
“What would you have me to do, my lord?” said the scrivener. “All that art and law can accomplish, I will try.”
“Ah, are you converted? do so, or pity of your life!” said the lord; “and remember I never fail my word.—Then keep that accursed gold,” he continued. “Or, stay, I will not trust you—send me this gold home presently to my lodging. I will still forward to Scotland, and it shall go hard but that I hold out Glenvarloch Castle against the owner, by means of the ammunition he has himself furnished. Thou art ready to serve me?” The scrivener professed the most implicit obedience.
“Then remember, the hour was past ere payment was tendered—and see thou hast witnesses of trusty memory to prove that point.”
“Tush, my lord, I will do more,” said Andrew, reviving—“I will prove that Lord Glenvarloch's friends threatened, swaggered, and drew swords on me.—Did your lordship think I was ungrateful enough to have suffered them to prejudice your lordship, save that they had bare swords at my throat?”
“Enough said,” replied Dalgarno; “you are perfect—mind that you continue so, as you would avoid my fury. I leave my page below—get porters, and let them follow me instantly with the gold.”