“He’ll make you pay for this.”
“A fig for the payment!”
“You’ll lose favour.”
“I’ll teach the sullen beast to refuse me one. The boots next.”
He put on the wig and hat for me, arranged the muffler over the lower part of my face, and fastened the cloak.
“The watchword for the night is ‘Culloden.’ You should have no trouble in passing. I needn’t tell you to be bold,” he finished dryly.
“I’ll not forget this,” I told him.
“That’s as you please,” he answered carelessly. “I ask no gratitude. I’m settling a debt, or rather two—one due Cumberland and the other you.”
“Still, I’ll remember.”
“Oh, all right. Hope we’ll have the pleasure of renewing our little game some day. Better take to the hills or the water. You’ll find the roads strictly guarded. Don’t let yourself get killed, my friend. The pleasure of running you through I reserve for myself.”