“I would learn them a lesson,” cried Drumcarro, “there’s none o’ them to be trusted. I would let them know there would be no trafficking with treason. We’ve had enough in Scotland of the thumbscrew and the boot--no but what judeeciously employed,” he added a moment after, “with the ignorant, when ye cannot get at them in any other way--” “I hope ye don’t advocate torture, Drumcarro; that would be a curious way of opposing Catholic Emancipation,” said Glendochart. “I’m not saying, sir, that I advocate torture; but I’ve seen cases--when deevilish obstinacy had to be dealt with,” said the old slave-driver, with a gleam of fire from under his shaggy eyebrows. “Well, well,” said the minister softly, raising a large hand in deprecation of the argument, “that’s perhaps departing from the immediate question. I hear there’s like to be trouble in your parish, Glendochart, about the new presentee. The Duke has been maybe a little hasty--an old tutor, that had to be provided for.” “If he manages the parish as ill as he managed some of the young lords,” said Glendochart, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I will not have a word said against the young lords,” cried Mary. “They’re just very pleasant--and as ceevil young men as ye could meet anywhere--there’s Lord John that we know best.” Miss Eelen shook her head till the black bows fluttered as if in a strong wind. “You’re all just infatuate about Lord John. I would not trust him, not a step out o’ my sight. I have no faith in your Lord Johns. Begging your pardon, Glendochart, they’re not a true race, and Lord John he is the worst of a’.” “I think you might know better, Aunt Eelen, than to bring up accusations against the head of my husband’s name.” “Your husband quotha!” cried Miss Eelen. “It was said of them for hundreds of years before your husband was born or thought of.”