“For an auld man ye hae killed enew for ae nicht,” said Malcolm, and gently took the knife from his trembling hand. “Ye maun come hame the noo.” “Is ta tog tead then?” asked Duncan eagerly. “Ow, na; he’s breathin’ yet,” answered Malcolm. “She’ll not can co till ta tog will pe tead. Ta tog may want more killing.” “What a horrible savage!” said one of the lairds, a justice of the peace. “He ought to be shut up in a madhouse.” “Gien ye set aboot shuttin’ up, sir, or my lord--I kenna whilk --ye’ll hae to begin nearer hame,” said Malcolm, as he stooped to pick up the broadsword, and so complete his possession of the weapons. “An’ ye’ll please to haud in min’, that nane here is an injured man but my gran’father himsel’.” “Hey!” said the marquis; “what do you make of all my dishes?” “’Deed, my lord, ye may comfort yersel’ that they warna dishes wi harns (_brains_) i’ them; for sic’s some scarce i’ the Hoose o’ Lossie.” “You’re a long-tongued rascal,” said the marquis. “A lang tongue may whiles be as canny as a lang spune, my lord; an’ ye ken what that’s for?” The marquis burst into laughter. “What do you make then of that horrible cut in your own hand?” asked the magistrate. “I mak my ain business o’ ’t,” answered Malcolm. While this colloquy passed, Duncan had been feeling about for his pipes: having found them he clasped them to his bosom like a hurt child. “Come home, come home,” he said; “your own pard has refenched you.” Malcolm took him by the arm and led him away. He went without a word, still clasping his wounded bagpipes to his bosom. “You’ll hear from me in the morning, my lad,” said the marquis in a kindly tone, as they were leaving the room. “I hae no wuss to hear onything mair o’ yer lordship. Ye hae dune eneuch this nicht, my lord, to mak ye ashamed o’ yersel’ till yer dyin’ day--gien ye hed ony pooer o’ shame left in ye.” The military youth muttered something about insolence, and made a step towards him. Malcolm quitted his grandfather, and stepped again into his room. “Come on,” he said. “No, no,” interposed the marquis. “Don’t you see the lad is hurt?” “Lat him come on,” said Malcolm; “I hae ae soon’ han’. Here, my lord, tak the wapons, or the auld man’ll get a grip o’ them again.” “I tell you _no_,” shouted Lord Lossie. “Fred, get out--will you!” The young gentleman turned on his heel, and Malcolm led his grandfather from the house without further molestation. It was all he could do, however, to get him home. The old man’s strength was utterly gone. His knees bent trembling under him, and the arm which rested on his grandson’s shook as with an ague-fit. Malcolm was glad indeed when at length he had him safe in bed, by which time his hand had swollen to a great size, and the suffering grown severe.