“Hoots, my lord!” returned Malcolm, “that wad never du. I _maun_ pey for my ain claes. I wad be in a constant terror o’ blaudin’ (_spoiling_) o’ them gien I didna, an’ that wad be eneuch to mak a body meeserable. It wad be a’ the same, forbye, oot _an’_ oot, as weirin’ a leevry!” “Well, well! please your pride, and be damned to you!” said the marquis. “Yes, let him please his pride, and be damned to him!” assented Lady Florimel with perfect gravity. Malcolm started and stared. Lady Florimel kept an absolute composure. The marquis burst into a loud laugh. Malcolm stood bewildered for a moment. “I’m thinkin’ I’m gaein’ daft (_delirious_)!” he said at length, putting his hand to his head. “It’s time I gaed. Guid mornin’, my lord.” He turned and left the room, followed by a fresh peal from his lordship, mingling with which his ear plainly detected the silvery veins of Lady Florimel’s equally merry laughter. When he came to himself and was able to reflect, he saw there must have been some joke involved: the behaviour of both indicated as much; and with this conclusion he heartened his dismay. The next morning Duncan called on Mrs Partan, and begged her acceptance of his stock in trade, as, having been his lordship’s piper for some time, he was now at length about to occupy his proper quarters within the policies. Mrs Findlay acquiesced, with an air better suited to the granting of slow leave to laboursome petition, than the accepting of such a generous gift; but she made some amends by graciously expressing a hope that Duncan would not forget his old friends now that he was going amongst lords and ladies, to which Duncan returned as courteous answer as if he had been addressing Lady Florimel herself. Before the end of the week, his few household goods were borne in a cart through the sea-gate dragonised by Bykes, to whom Malcolm dropped a humorous “Weel Johnny!” as he passed, receiving a nondescript kind of grin in return. The rest of the forenoon was spent in getting the place in order, and in the afternoon, arrayed in his new garments, Malcolm reported himself at the House. Admitted to his lordship’s presence, he had a question to ask and a request to prefer. “Hae ye dune onything my lord,” he said, “aboot Mistress Catanach?” “What do you mean?” “Anent yon cat-prowl aboot the hoose, my lord.” “No. You haven’t discovered anything more--have you?” “Na, my lord; I haena had a chance. But ye may be sure she had nae guid design in ’t.” “I don’t suspect her of any.” “Weel, my lord, hae ye ony objection to lat me sleep up yonner?” “None at all--only you’d better see what Mrs Courthope has to say to it. Perhaps you won’t be so ready after you hear her story.” “But I hae yer lordship’s leave to tak ony room I like?” “Certainly. Go to Mrs Courthope, and tell her I wish you to choose your own quarters.”