“And therefore,” said the orator, availing himself of his immunity, “I would like to ken what sort of carle this Maister Heriot is. He hath supplied your lordship with wealth of gold, as I can understand; and if he has, I make it for certain he hath had his ain end in it, according to the fashion of the world. Now, had your lordship your own good lands at your guiding, doubtless this person, with most of his craft—goldsmiths they call themselves—I say usurers—wad be glad to exchange so many pounds of African dust, by whilk I understand gold, against so many fair acres, and hundreds of acres, of broad Scottish land.”
“But you know I have no land,” said the young lord, “at least none that can be affected by any debt which I can at present become obliged for—I think you need not have reminded me of that.”
“True, my lord, most true; and, as your lordship says, open to the meanest capacity, without any unnecessary expositions. Now, therefore, my lord, unless Maister George Heriot has something mair to allege as a motive for his liberality, vera different from the possession of your estate—and moreover, as he could gain little by the capture of your body, wherefore should it not be your soul that he is in pursuit of?”
“My soul, you rascal!” said the young lord; “what good should my soul do him?”
“What do I ken about that?” said Moniplies; “they go about roaring and seeking whom they may devour—doubtless, they like the food that they rage so much about—and, my lord, they say,” added Moniplies, drawing up still closer to his master's side, “they say that Master Heriot has one spirit in his house already.”
“How, or what do you mean?” said Nigel; “I will break your head, you drunken knave, if you palter with me any longer.”
“Drunken?” answered his trusty adherent, “and is this the story?—why, how could I but drink your lordship's health on my bare knees, when Master Jenkin began it to me?—hang them that would not—I would have cut the impudent knave's hams with my broadsword, that should make scruple of it, and so have made him kneel when he should have found it difficult to rise again. But touching the spirit,” he proceeded, finding that his master made no answer to his valorous tirade, “your lordship has seen her with your own eyes.”
“I saw no spirit,” said Glenvarloch, but yet breathing thick as one who expects some singular disclosure, “what mean you by a spirit?”
“You saw a young lady come in to prayers, that spoke not a word to any one, only made becks and bows to the old gentleman and lady of the house—ken ye wha she is?”
“No, indeed,” answered Nigel; “some relation of the family, I suppose.”