'There, now, if you're a man, ye'll no refuse noo.'
Nor could he. And then the supper came along; and there was eating and talking and laughing and further drinking, until a kind of galvanised hilarity sprang up once more amongst them. And she would have Ronald declare to them which of the lasses in Sutherlandshire it was who had broken his heart for him; and, in order to get her away from that subject, he was very amenable in her hands, and would do anything she bade him, singing first one song and then another, and not refusing the drinking of successive toasts. As for the others, they very prudently declined having anything to do with champagne. But Ronald was her pet, her favourite; and she had got a special box of cigars for him—all wrapped up in silverfoil and labelled; and she would have them tell her over and over again how Ronald's voice sounded in the long hall when he sang—
'Glenstrae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours?
and she would have them tell her again of the thunders of cheering that followed—
'Well, well; we'll have, if that be so,
Another glass before we go.'
Nay, she would have them try a verse or two of it there and then—led by Mr. Jaap; and she herself joined in the chorus; and they clinked their glasses together, and were proud of their vocalisation and their good comradeship. Indeed, they prolonged this jovial evening as late as the law allowed them; and then the widow said gaily—
'There's that poor man thinks I'm gaun to allow him to gang away to that wretched hole o' a lodging o' his, where he's just eating his heart out wi' solitariness and a wheen useless books. But I'm not. I ken better than that, Ronald, my lad. Whilst ye've a' been singing and roaring, I've had a room got ready for ye; and there ye'll sleep this night, my man—for I'm not going to hae ye march away through the lonely streets, and maybe cut your throat ere daybreak; and ye can lock yourself in, if ye're feared that any warlock or bogle is likely to come and snatch ye; and in the morning ye'll come down and have your breakfast wi' auntie Paterson and me—and then—what then? What do ye think? When the dog-cart's at the door, and me gaun to drive ye oot to Campsie Glen? There, laddie, that's the programme; and wet or dry is my motto. If it's wet we'll sing "Come under my plaidie"; and we'll take a drop o' something comfortable wi' us to keep out the rain.'
'I wish I was gaun wi' ye, Mistress,' the big skipper said.
'Two's company and three's none,' said Kate Menzies, with a frank laugh. 'Is't a bargain, Ronald?'