MR CRATHIE.
He was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, and the voice of
the factor in exultant wrath.
“MacPhail!” it cried. “Come out with you. Don’t think to sneak there.
_I_ know you. What right have you to be on the premises? Didn’t I send
you about your business this morning?”
“Ay, sir, but ye didna pay me my wauges,” said Malcolm, who had sprung
to the door and now stood holding it half shut, while Mr Crathie pushed
it half open.
“No matter. You’re nothing better than a housebreaker if you enter any
building about the place.”
“I brak nae lock,” returned Malcolm. “I ha’e the key my lord gae me to
ilka place ’ithin the wa’s excep’ the strong room.”
“Give it me directly. _I’m_ master here now.”
“’Deed, I s’ du nae sic thing, sir. What he gae me I’ll keep.”
“Give up that key, or I’ll go at once and get a warrant against you for
theft.”
“Weel, we s’ refar ’t to Maister Soutar.”
“Damn your impudence--’at I sud say ’t!--what has he to do with my
affairs? Come out of that directly.”
“Huly, huly, sir!” returned Malcolm, in terror lest he should discover
who was with him.
“You low-bred rascal! Who have you there with you?”
As he spoke Mr Crathie would have forced his way into the dusky
chamber, where he could just perceive a motionless undefined form. But
stiff as a statue Malcolm kept his stand, and the door was immovable.
Mr Crathie gave a second and angrier push, but the youth’s corporeal as
well as his mental equilibrium was hard to upset, and his enemy drew
back in mounting fury.
“Get out of there,” he cried, “or I’ll horsewhip you for a damned
blackguard.”
“Whup awa’,” said Malcolm, “but in here ye s’ no come the nicht.”
The factor rushed at him, his heavy whip upheaved--and the same moment
found himself, not in the room, but lying on the flower-bed in front of
it. Malcolm instantly stepped out, locked the door, put the key in his
pocket, and turned to assist him. But he was up already, and busy with
words unbefitting the mouth of an elder of the kirk.
“Didna I say ’at ye sudna come in, sir? What for wull fowk no tak a
tellin’?” expostulated Malcolm.
But the factor was far beyond force of logic or illumination of reason.
He raved and swore.
“Get oot o’ my sicht,” he cried, “or I’ll shot ye like a tyke.”
“Gang an’ fess yer gun,” said Malcolm, “an’ gien ye fin’ me waitin’ for
ye, ye can lat at me.”
The factor uttered a horrible imprecation on himself if he did not make
him pay dearly for his behaviour.
“Hoots, sir! Be asham’t o’ yersel’. Gang hame to the mistress, an’ I s’
be up the morn’s mornin’ for my wauges.”
“If ye set foot on the grounds again, I’ll set every dog in the place
upon you.”
Malcolm laughed.
“Gien I was to turn the order the ither gait, wad they min’ you or me,
div ye think, Maister Crathie?”
“Give me that key, and go about your business.”
“Na, na, sir! What my lord gae me I s’ keep--for a’ the factors atween
this an’ the Land’s En’,” returned Malcolm. “An’ for lea’in’ the place,
gien I be na in your service, Maister Crathie, I’m nae un’er your
orders. I’ll gang whan it suits me. An’ mair yet, ye s’ gang oot o’
this first, or I s’ gar ye, an that ye’ll see.”
It was a violent proceeding, but for a matter of manners he was not
going to risk what of her good name poor Lizzy had left: like the books
of the Sibyl, that grew in value. He made, however, but one threatful
stride towards the factor, for the great man turned and fled.
The moment he was out of sight, Malcolm unlocked the door, led Lizzy
out, and brought her through the tunnel to the sands. There he left
her, and set out for Scaurnose.